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WILLIAM POLLOK 

AND OTHER TALES 


BY 

THE 

SAME 

AUTHOR 

A 

DROP 

IN INFINITY 

A 

NOVEL 




THE BODLEY 

HEAD 



WILLIAM POLLOK 

AND OTHER TALES 
By GERALD GROGAN 



LONDON : JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD 
NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY, MCMXIX 



Gift 

Publisher 

AP# 


f 


RlNTsr BY WILLIAM BRSNDON AND SON, LTD., PLYMOUTH, ENGLAND 


MEMOIR 


T he author of these stories was born in 
Perthshire in May of 1884, and for the 
first eleven years of his life moved about 
the world, with the first Battalion of the Royal 
Highlanders, The Black Watch,'' in which regi- 
ment his father served thirty-four years. 

At eleven years of age the boy came home to 
England, and as he was destined for the Army, he 
was sent to Cheltenham College. When he was 
about fifteen, however, a slight tendency to short 
sight, which had been hardly observable hitherto, 
increased so quickly and so distressingly in six 
months, that the Army as a career was put out of 
the question. This was a bitter blow to the boy- 
He had lived all his life with soldiers, and loved 
and understood them. His popularity with the 
men of his father's regiment was remarkable. 
Even in his childhood he seemed gifted with the 
power of understanding and influencing his fellow- 
creatures in an extraordinary degree. 

Confirmation of this is given by an officer who 
was travelling with the ist Black Watch to South 
Africa when Gerald was between nine and ten. He 
noticed that at a certain time in the day a little 


VI 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


crowd of men on board could be seen congregating 
in one corner of the ship, where they evidently 
found something that entertained and interested 
them immensely. From curiosity, the officer got 
forward unobserved, and then found that a small 
boy holding forth in the midst of the crowd was the 
attraction ! 

When Gerald was about seventeen he went to 
Edinburgh to study at the University, with the 
half -formed project of taking up medicine or siurgery 
as a career. For two years he enjoyed the studies, 
which were on subjects that appealed greatly to 
his interest : Botany, Natural History, Chemistry, 
and Physics. He also passed his exams without 
difficulty ; but when he reached the later stage of 
the work — Pathology — ^his interest entirely ceased, 
and he turned from it with distaste. 

He was theu sent to Camborne College, to learn 
Mining Engineering ; and, as the Certificates he 
had gained in Edinburgh on the earlier subjects 
he had worked at were accepted at Camborne, no 
time was really lost. After finishing his training at 
Camborne, he went to Arizona and, when the 
mines closed there, to Mexico, and it was in these 
places that he met with the mining experiences from 
which he drew the foundation of many of the tales 
in this book. 

Just as in early childhood he had made his way 
with the soldiers, so over the miners and all his 
companions he exercised the same compelling 


MEMOIR 


Vll 


influence, winning devotion and affection from all. 
He had the power of reaching down to the solid 
worth of any one, however it might be hidden by a 
rough exterior ; and he drew forth to light in his 
tales noble traits of character, which a more super- 
ficial observer would have passed over. 

When the Revolution stopped all mining, and 
indeed all industry in Mexico, he devoted himself 
to writing, while he waited for things to brighten ; 
but, when that was seen to be a vain hope, he came 
back to England and conceived the idea of devoting 
himself entirely to writing. He was encouraged at 
the very outset by his poems being accepted and 
published in periodicals like The Spectator and 
Chambers' Journal. 

With his father's consent he went to London, 
and succeeded in getting employment on the staffs 
of the Throne and the Pall Mall Magazine, and in 
his leisure time he wrote his stories and poems, 
and also a novel, A Drop in Infinity, published 
in January, 1915, by John Lane, which was well 
reviewed. 

But by this time he was enrolled as a soldier ; 
for at the first note of war he enlisted as a private 
in the H.A.C. His father could have got him a 
commission, but he refused, as he said he did not 
know enough to be an officer at once, and he wished 
to get out to France quickly. 

He spent the winter of 1914-15 in the trenches, 
enduring that terrible experience in a way that 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


viii 

astonished all who knew him, for he was not par- 
ticularly robust. 

Early in 1915 he got a commission in the 8th 
Leicesters ; but, after training with them and going 
out again to France, he decided to transfer to the 
Royal Engineers — ^Tunnelling Department — as he 
felt his training as a Mining Engineer would make 
him of more service there. For two years he served 
in the 183rd company, the men and his brother 
officers being devoted to him. 

He escaped unscathed, in spite of several very 
narrow shaves, till January 8th, 1918, when he was 
killed by the bursting of a High Explosive shell 
right above him when on duty with his section in a 
forward area. 

His last poem, written at the close of 1916, was 
prophetic. He desired nothing better than a soldier's 
death, and believed it would be his portion. 


CONTENTS 


The Trials and Triumphs of William Pollok, 
Mine Superintendent- 

face 

AN international INCIDENT .... 3 

THE SOUL OF VELASQUEZ 23 

THE UNRELIABLES 45 

THE STEALERS 63 

CONCERNING ROUGH-NECKS 85 

BROTHER WILKINSON I05 

maud: a STORY FOR THE SENTIMENTAL . . I29 

PUMPING CHARGES 151 

Encinillas 173 

The Faith of Henderson 191 

A Warm Corner in Mexico 203 

The Casting Vote 225 

The Subjugation of the Skettering . . .235 

The Failure 251 

The Cat .... 265 

The Weregeld 275 

A Moral Victory 285 

ix 







WILLIAM POLLOK 

AND OTHER TALES 
















THE TRIALS AND TRIUMPHS 

OF 

WILLIAM POLLOK 

MINE SUPERINTENDENT 


B 














AN INTERNATIONAL INCIDENT 


" T HAVE not seen you,” said the Englishman, 
I for the devil of a time/' 

JL The fault is entirely yours," I said. “ I 
have been here. Anyone who really wanted to see 
me could do so at a moment's notice by stepping 
down here to the club and ringing the bell for the 
mozo who brings the drinks. By writing to me c/o 
Corral Foreign Club, Corral, Chih, Mex. — Chih is 
short for Chihuahua, pron. Chee-wd-wa, and Mex. 
for Mexico, pron. thus, or by the intensely erudite 
May-he-ko — ^you would have ensured an answer 
within a week or two, or three months, according 
to the state of the climate and the altitude and my 
liver and all that sort of thing. No," I concluded, 
‘'if you have not seen me for the devil of a time 
the fault is entirely yours. Except to scratch my 
nose when the mosquitoes bit it, I have hardly 
moved a limb for two months." 

“ Perhaps it was as well," said the Englishman. 
I cannot work out quite what he meant by these 
last words. “ I have had a frightful time," he addeds 
“ I have been in a place called Puerto Mirafiores on 
the Gulf, and I have had a frightful time there." 

“ How did you get there ? " I asked. “ The Gulf 
of Mexico is no place for a mining man." 

“ I forget. I think my Board sent me to wait 
f or ^a^st earner for Honduras. It was so appallingly 
3 


4 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


hot, however, that I cannot be quite certain. I 
think I was in Puerto Miraflores for a month.'* 

** Never heard of the place. Any other white 
men there ? " 

“Not at first. It was excellent practice for my 
Spanish " — I shuddered as I thought of the suffer- 
ings of the Mirafiorian natives — “because I spoke 
frequently to the hotel-keeper " — poor devil ! — 
“ in his tongue “ 

“ Did he understand what you were doing ? “ I 
asked. 

“ Oh yes ; he would answer me in English. 
The only words he knew were ‘ By G — d ' and 
another expression I hope I have weaned him away 
from. It seems he learnt it from an American. 
By the way, there was an American man in Puerto 
Miraflores latterly. Shall I tell you about him, or 
shall we have a drink ? " 

“ Both," I suggested, and the Englishman told 
me a tale. 

“ It began," he said, “in a skin game. Do you 
know what a skin game is ? " 

“ I do not," I answered him. 

“ Neither do 1. I was walking down the street 
and it was beastly hot. Somebody — apparently in 
the air overhead — remarked that it was a skin 
game. 

“ I looked up to heaven," continued the English- 
man, “and saw nothing. Only the sun swung 
glittering in a hard blue sky. I looked down the 
street and saw the still waters of the Gulf beyond 
the decayed wharf, the whole picture being framed 
in a frightful smell." 


AN INTERNATIONAL INCIDENT 


5 


“ How could you see the smell ? ” I interrupted. 

I suppose it does seem a bit impossible,” said 
the Englishman, ''but then you have never been in 
Puerto Mirafiores. I looked at all these things 
without discovering anything fresh. Then the voice 
spoke again. ' This,' it said, ' is a skin game.' You 
know the swing-doors they have outside cantinas ? 
Kind of door with a space above and a gap below 
and the door in the middle ? Well, that's where 
he was.'' 

" Inside a cantina ? '' 

" Yes — drinking beer. I do not like going inside 
cantinas of this class in places like Puerto Mirafiores 
— one is so likely to get gashed with a knife or other- 
wise mutilated. I looked in over the door, however. 

" There were two men inside playing cards at a 
stone table. One of them was a Mexican. I judged 
him — from his appearance — to be a nasty Mexican. 
Kind that has been to the ' States,' you know. 
Talks English and all the rest of it. He was drinking 
beer out of a litre bottle and dealing out the cards. 

" T'other fellow was a — a — well, he was a sort of 
stubby man, you know. Looked as if somebody 
had beaten him down from six foot five, or there- 
abouts, to five foot seven. He was an American, 
and he had thoughtful eyes. 

" I am not ' wise ' to card games, but I take it 
that a skin game is one wherein the dealer takes 
liberties with the rules and regulations. I think 
this must be so because, just after the stubby man 
said it w^as a skin game — for the second time — he 
made a grab for the dealer’s wrist. He had a pretty 
firm grip. The dealer’s fingers opened and h 
dropped two cards — ace of spades and four o 


6 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


diamonds. He also said something I will not 
repeat. 

This seemed to annoy the American, for his 
next move was to hit his playmate a severe blow 
on the head with a beer-bottle. The bottle broke 
and made an appalling mess — ^bottle, glass and beer 
and blood and what not all over the shop. Having 
performed this feat, the American put all the money 
on the table into his pocket and moved to the 
door.*' 

'' Moved to the door ? ” I cried. 

“ I suppose that is what he did,*' said the English- 
man gloomily. “ I next found myself sitting in 
the street of Puerto Miraflores upon what I judged 
from its clamour to be some one else's hen. He must 
have come out by the door whilst I was looking in. 
He must have come out suddenly. 

“ As there was no policeman handy to arrest me 
as a witness — ^they do this in Mexico — I arose from 
the bosom of the hen and returned to my hotel. I 
deemed it my duty — as a respectable member of 
the community — to keep as far away as possible 
from the bar-room brawls. Also, there is a breeze 
from the sea on the hotel porch, the stink is less 
intolerable and the seascape is one of the few 
things that the inhabitants of Puerto Miraflores 
have not managed to defile. I sat upon the porch 
to think.** 

“ What did you think about ? ** I asked. 

“ Oh, beer and gunboats and ' Gachupines * — 
anything that begins with a G. I was rather hoping 
a gunboat would come — ^there was one hanging 
about the coast — because the jefe politico had told 
me that the people were organizing a massacre of 


AN INTERNATIONAL INCIDENT 


7 


foreigners. This American had caught the dealer a 
bally awful whack with the bottle. He was probably 
dead. By the way, have you ever seen the Gulf 
in a light breeze on a sunny day ? It is an ideal 
sight. I should be looking at it yet only I happened 
to go to sleep.'' 

Never mind the scenery," I urged. " Tell me 
about the massacre or whatever it was that oc- 
curred." 

The Englishman drank his drink, thought deeply 
for a moment or two, and then poured himself out 
a second. 

" I was awakened," he said, "by a grunting 
noise. I opened my eyes with difficulty and saw 
the fat jefe politico coming up the incline to the 
house. I offered him a chair — ^there were several 
knocking about on the porch — and he sat down 
and swabbed up his bull neck with an enormous 
bandana ; red thing with blue spots. He said that 
it was frightfully hot, and that an outrage of the 
most horrible had been committed. * By an 
American,' he added, eyeing me with severity. 
He has a conviction that the English and American 
Republics are different names for the same evil 
nations. ' More,' said the jefe, ' the wounded is my 
poor cousin Juan. What barbarity ! ' 

" I was glad to hear that Cousin John was the 
manipulator of aces. He was reputed to hold most 
of the municipal contracts and was therefore 
largely responsible for the stink. ‘ Is he dead ? ' 
I asked." 

I can imagine the cheerful tone in which the 
Englishman would make this inquiry. 

" ' Gracia d Dios, no ! ' said the jefe, * He yet 


8 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


lives. The assassin has fled — sacrilegiously — ^to the 
roof of the church. He has barricaded the trap- 
door by which one goes up. At the moment it is 
impossible to arrest him. But he cannot escape.' 
Considering the man had nearly killed the jefe's 
cousin, I felt I owed him a debt of gratitude. ' How 
do you propose to catch him — ^this American ? ' I 
asked. The jefe said he was thinking of knocking 
down the church. ' That would be rather drastic,' 
I suggested. 

“ He looked uncomfortable and he rubbed his 
knees. ' You understand English,' he said, after 
thinking it over a bit, and with the air of a man 
announcing an uncontroverted though not generally 
popularized truth. ‘ You understand English, as 
is most natural, your honour being an Amer — an 
English citizen. It is possible — ^that is to say, 

should you be so kind ' ‘You want me to talk 

to him,’ I suggested. ‘ He is very barbarous — ^this 
man,’ said the jefe, ‘ very uncultured. He does not 
comprehend the Castilian tongue.’ ” 

“ Look here,” I interrupted — the Englishman’s 
manner and air suggested an easy and fluent con- 
versation betwixt him and the jefe — ” do you mean 
to tell me that this jefe politico person had the nerve 
to employ you as his interpreter ? ” 

” Why not ? ” said the Englishman. “ Apart 
from pronunciation and grammar and not having 
a very large vocabulary, I get along pretty well. I 
can always understand what they are saying to me.” 

“ Go on,” I said. ” He w^as a brave man, your 
jefe — for heaven’s sake go on with your tale.” 

” This scheme,” continued the Englishman, “ was 
for me to promise the American a free passage out 


AN INTERNATIONAL INCIDENT 


9 


of tHe town. As soon as he came down he meant to 
arrest him. Typical dirty political trick. I didn’t 
like mixing in the affair at all, hut I thought it 
would be something to do, so I agreed to go along 
with him. On the way down we passed the jefe’s 
house He had a daughter called Rosa. Damned 
pretty girl ” 

'' Blow the daughter ! ” 

“ Hang it all,” cried the Englishman, '' she’s 
part of the yarn — so far as I can see. Rosa was her 
name. She was engaged to Cousin Juan — ^the 
maimed — but they tell me she had her eye on the 
lieutenant in conmand of the American gunboat 
and a few more besides. A most frightful young 
person ; but I admit she was attractive. She said, 

* Is it Meester PoUok who has wounded Juan and 
fled to the church ? ’ She seemed quite anxious. 

‘ It is the American, Pollok,’ replied her parent 
severely. ' Pobre I ’ said Rosa. I do not know 
whether she was referring to her Cousin John or 
Mr. Pollok. 

“ After that we went on down to the Plaza 
Principal, where the church is. The church is built 
of brown stone and it has a single belfry and a long 
vaulted roof. You cannot imagine what a delightful 
contrast it makes with the atmospheric blue of the 
sky and the sombre green of the orange trees in the 
Plaza ” 

Oh yes, I can,” I remarked — hastily. The 
Englishman’s voice had taken on a staccato lilt and 
he played upon an invisible piano about level with, 
and a couple of feet away from, his nose. ” You 
must not talk about scenery,” I said severely. 
“ You must tell me about Mr. Pollok only.” 


10 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


“ There were three rurales — rural mounted police 
— ^and two gendarmes on the Plaza/' continued the 
Englishman. '' The rurales had taken up a strategic 
position in the bandstand, and the rest of the forces 
of law and order were leaning against the nearest 
wall, smoking cigarettes. ' He cannot escape,' said 
the jefe. ‘ Tell him, Meester Chones ' — Jones is the 
Englishman's patronymic — ^that resistance is use- 
less." 

'' I started to ask where he was, but as I spoke a 
round face — like a rising sun — popped up over the 
parapet on the coping, looked at me once, closed 
one eye, and shot down again. 

" The face said, ‘ Howdy, Johnny Bull ? How's 
the jefe’s blawsted cousin, old top ? ' ' The jefe's 

blawsted cousin is extremely sick,' I answered, 
‘ although I fear that he will live. If you are going 
to be facetious I shall return home. Do you sup- 
pose I walked all this distance on a hot day just for 
fun ? ' ‘No offence,' said Mr. PoUok. ‘ You was 
the buck I butted into makin' my getaway — ain't 
it ? ' ‘I were,' said I — ‘ that is to say, I was. 
Furthermore you made me spoil a hen for which I 
shall probably have to pay.' 

"Mr. Pollok chuckled. ‘ Didn't have much time 
to whistle for the crossin',' he said. ‘ Guess you 
should ha' moved a bit smarter. What's the good 
word with now ? ' ‘ The good word is that the jefe 
wishes you to descend,' I said. 

"Mr. Pollok said several words that were far 
from good. ‘ What does he say ? ' inquired the jefe 
anxiously. ‘ He says he will not come down,' I 
explained. ‘ Tell him I will permit him to leave 
the town unmolested.' said the jefe. ‘ It is expedient 


AN INTERNATIONAL INCIDENT ii 


that we use strategy. I will have him arrested 
afterwards.' 

“ I passed on the news to Mr. Pollok — ^rather 
more in detail than the jefe had meant it to be. I 
shouted it as rapidly as possible, being uncertain as 
to the jefe*s linguistic accomplishment. ' Thanks,' 
answered Mr. Pollok from on high. ' I understand 
Spanish, though I ain't seeing much need to publish 

the fact right now. Tell him that ' here Mr. 

Pollok used several oaths I already knew and nine 
or ten I had not so far encountered. ' He says his 
determination not to come down is even more stead- 
fast,' I told the jefe. 

“ The jefe said he would knock down the church, 
but I explained that such an action might involve 
international complications. Then he swore. Finally 
he decided that one should not be permitted to make 
a joke — a plaything — of the Mexican law, and that 
he would beleaguer the church until Mr. Pollok came 
down or died of starvation — he didn't much care 
which. I offered to notify the nearest American 
Consul on Mr. Pollok's behalf — ^an offer which that 
gentleman declined with some heat — and then I went 
back to my hotel. 

'' Let us go out now and take a walk on the 
Plaza," suggested the Englishman. "It is cooler 
than it was." 

" You shan't stir a step until you have told me 
the rest of your story," I promised him. " Go on ! 
Proceed ! En adelante I " He sighed. 

"I sat upon the hotel porch for three days," he 
said gently. " At the end of that time I had for- 


12 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


gotten Mr. Pollok. He was called to my mind by 
another visit from the jefe. 'It is a miracle/ he 
groaned. ' He continues singing.' ' Who ? Oh, 
the American on the church ! Is he still there ? ' 
' He sings,' said the jefe. ' He lives three days with- 
out food or water, and then he sings. Demonio ! ' 
' What does his song consist of ? ' I asked. ' Ees 
estar spangli ba-na, aoh Ion' mai eet uav,' chanted 
the jefe, beating time with his fingers. ' It is an 
American song — very barbarous. Moreover,' he 
said, ‘ he continues fat — very fat — and — ^and he has 
shaved himself. The devil, his master, suppUes him 
with food and water.' 

" He sat back and blinked at me. Not wishing 
to queer Mr. Pollok's pitch, I kept my mouth shut. 
' By order of the authority,' said the jefe, patting 
his ample bosom, ‘ no person has been allowed to 
enter the church. That is to say, no person save the 
priest and my Rosa, who goes daily to offer supplica- 
tion for the poor Juan — the gravely wounded.' 
‘ In which case, Senor jefej I exclaimed, ' it is 
obviously what you yourself have suggested — a 
miracle.' ‘ It is a scandal,’ corrected the jefe. He 
seemed very gloomy about it. 

“ Next day, a cablegi'am arrived for me. It said : 
‘ Gazupa,' that, being decoded, meant — ‘ Deal fallen 
through. Do not proceed to Honduras. Return to 
Corral.' I ought to have gone home then." 

“ But you didn't ? " 

“ No. I had to discourage the jefe from various 
bloodthirsty enterprises, and I wanted to see what 
Mr. Pollok would do, and what would happen if 
the gunboat turned up in the meantime and all that 
kind of thing. It was appallingly hot ; but I stayed 


AN INTERNATIONAL INCIDENT 13 

on. I think it was on the eighth day when matters 
came to a fearsome head. 

Somewhere around three o'clock in the after- 
noon I was abruptly wakened by the report of a 
pistol, followed by dreadful bangs and crashes and 
a sort of reedy cheering in the distance. I thought, 
at first, that something was up down in the harbour. 
It wasn’t, though. There was only one solitary 
pirogue in sight and a splash of smoke on the 
horizon. The glittering Gulf lay silent and deserted. 
You cannot imagine how ” 

“ Yes, I can,” I said. '' I can imagine anything 
if you will only continue your recital and cut the 
scenic effects.” 

The Englishman looked vexed. 

” Positively,” he said, with great impressiveness, 
” I almost ran down into the town. The church 
and Plaza when I arrived in the vicinity presented 
a stirring scene — ^for Puerto Miraflores. Behind the 
bandstand, in an exact row, knelt the three gallant 
rurales with their carbines levelled at the banging 
church.” 

” The what kind of church ? ” I cried. 

“Banging church. Most horrible uproar in pro- 
cess of production on the roof. I did not notice any 
bullets to speak of, and the smoke and so forth was 
rather suggestive of half-sticks of dynamite, but 
the din was positively bestial. I could not see Mr. 
Pollok or I should have remonstrated — if I could 
have made my voice carry above the uproar of his 
artillery. The thing was becoming really serious, 
for, besides being wakened at an inclement hour, I 
was rapidly developing a most severe headache. 
The only sign of human occupation, however, was 


14 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


the Stars and Stripes. He had hoisted his flag on a 
crooked stick, so that it was clearly visible above the 
wreathing clouds of smoke. I thought this was 
pure swank at the time, but it seems I misjudged 
him. 

“ ' Meester Chon^ ! Meester Chones ! ' croaked a 
sepulchral voice. ' Meester Chon^, have a care. 
There is danger.' I observed the jefe beckoning 
from the shelter of a doorway. ' One cannot live 
for ever,' I said. The jefe grew pale about the gills. 
* These — Americanos ! ' he muttered. * I am not an 
American,' I said coldly. ' But — Meester Chongs — 
if he kills you ? How shall the Americans differ- 
entiate ? They will say I did it, and that you are 
without doubt one of themselves.' 'What Americans, 
Senor Jefe ? ' I asked. ' Those of the gunboat.' 
What disgrace ! The accursed gunboat which even 
now approaches. As your honour knows,' he said, 
'this is the year in which the low people of the 
country — the shameless ones — make the proposi- 
tion to kill all the foreigners on the i6th September 
— ^the day of fiesta nacional. This being so, the 
Yanquis perfidiously send armed vessels of war — 
the hypocritical Doctrina de Monroe, I spit upon it 
— ^to patrol the coast. And from time to time comes 
this maldito gunboat — and — and — ' the jefe was 
almost in tears — 'and now here is made an Inter- 
national Question in my jurisdiction ! ' 

"He seemed frightfully anxious; said that we 
were now going to be bombarded and that it was 
not his fault, and added a hope that the first ball 
might annihilate Mr. Pollok. I was going to speak 
a few words of comfort, when Mr. Pollok's revolver 
popped five times — as a sort of finishing touch — 


AN INTERNATIONAL INCIDENT 15 


and stopped. In the resultant hush we all heard a 
distinct, if distant, clicking of rowlocks. ' Ya 
vienen ! * boomed the voice of Mr. Pollok. This was 
the first time I heard him use Spanish to express 
his ideas. * Sons of shame,' he said, ‘ the Americans 
come ! Cowards ! we avenge Alamo ! ' 

“ Just at this moment along comes another gen- 
darme — at the double. He thoughtfully declined 
to expose his person in the Plaza, but backed up 
against a wall and beckoned mysteriously. ‘Ap- 
proach ! ’ said the jefe. The gendarme seemed to 
think he had done all the approaching that was 
necessary. ‘ They would talk,' he said in a thirty- 
horse power stage whisper. ‘ Who,' said the jefCy 
' who would talk ? ' 'El Capitan Americano* said 
the policeman. 

“ This made the jefe frightfully sick. He said 
that now he would most certainly be hanged, and he 
implored me not to desert him. I said I would be 
willing — ^while preserving a strict neutrality — ^to act 
as interpreter ; and Mr. Pollok agreed to make no 
more warlike noises until El Capitan Americano had 
been interviewed. Followed by most of the popula- 
tion of Puerto Miraflores, I went down to the 
wharf. 

“There was a boat alongside. It was filled to 
repletion with bluejackets with guns and bayonets 
and things, and the thirst for glory engraved upon 
their faces. I think they were about 50 per cent 
Irish and the rest Scandinavian, and they were a 
hard-looking lot. As long as they refrained from 
fighting one another there was nothing to hinder 
them from chasing the entire town across to the 
other side of Mexico. Notwithstanding this deadly 


i6 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


peril, the patriot population was competing all along 
the water-front to sell them vegetables. It was a 
thrilling spectacle.’* 

** It must have been,” I remarked. 

” A funny thing happened,” continued the 
Englishman. ” The lieutenant in charge of the 
boatload asked if I was an American. Then, with- 
out waiting for my reply, he said, ' My mistake ! A 
Britisher, I guess ! ’ It’s queer how people seem to 
spot the dread secret. ”I am an Englishman,’ I 
answered him, with a dignified pride which must 
have attested the statement, *but there is at least 
one American in town. Thank goodness you arrived 
in time.’ 

” The frightful resolution on the faces of the gal- 
lant Irish and the warlike Scandinavians — I think 
that lieutenant must have been an Irish-Swede and 
picked his men accordingly — ^became even more 
intense ; and an ancient woman held up a hen 
which I seemed to recognize. ‘ Ten reals ! ’ she 
whined. ' Very fat ! Very cheap ! ’ 

These statements were lies, and they didn’t 
seem to pacify the lieutenant a bit. * Who is in 
charge here ? ’ he demanded. I showed him the 
jefe. * Tell him,’ said the lieutenant, ' that if another 
shot is fired we will proceed to bombard the 
town.’ 

” I translated, and the news seemed to put the 
jefe in a worse stew than ever. He went through a 
few colour changes and came to a standstill at green- 
ish yellow. He said, ‘ Juanito ’ — Juanito appeared 
to be the smallest of the four or five hundred small 
boys on the wharf — ‘ run swiftly and tell the corporal 
that he shall pray the American Pollok to be silent 


AN INTERNATIONAL INCIDENT 17 

— lest the vessel of war commences to bombard ’ 

' The church,’ said the jefe's secretary, with a flash 
of inspiration. 

“ Juanito pointed out that the three rurales and 
the two gendarmes were already on the wharf — 
having come down to see the fun — ^but the jefe 
urged him to go on notwithstanding, and break 
the news to Mr. Pollok — ‘ lest,’ he said, ' he commit 
an indiscretion.’ ‘ How many of you are there ? ’ 
said the lieutenant. I began to count the crowd. 
' Damn it ! ’ said the lieutenant rudely. ‘ Foreigners, 
I mean.’ 'Oh, foreigners!* I said. 'Three, I 
imagine. Myself, Mr. Enrique Gomez — ^the fat 
gentleman sitting on the bollard — ^and a man called 
Pollok, who insists on making disagreeable sounds 
on top of the church. Thank goodness you arrived 
in time. We were all getting frightful head- 
aches.’ 

" Suddenly the lieutenant began to swear. He 
swore for quite five minutes, in various tongues 
and very readily. When he had finished he asked 
if I referred to William Pollok. I said to the jefe, 
' Is his name Guillermo — ^this Pollok ? ’ ‘ His 

name is Guillermo,’ said the jefe. ' Shove off ! ’ 
roared the lieutenant. ' Shove off ! ’ ' No,’ he 

said, ' I don’t want to know what he’s done now. 
I guess it’s something pretty average mean. Par- 
don my fervour, mister,’ he said, 'but I’ve had 
some past experience of Mr. double-dash Pollok 
myself.’ 

" I suggested that he might like, nevertheless, to 
take Mr. Pollok with him. 'You see,’ I said, 'he 
is far from popular — the way things stand — ^with 
the local authority, and it would be distressing if 
c 


i8 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


the populace began to work off their grudge against 
Mr. Pollok by spearing me and Mr. Enrique Gomez. 
I think perhaps you had better take him.' ‘ Shove 
off ! ’ said the lieutenant in a monotonous voice. 
' Shove off ! Tell the jefe I hope he gives him ten 
years. Shove off, I say ! ’ 

"'The jefe showed a strong tendency to faint. 
He had grasped the fact that the lieutenant was 
annoyed. ' Meester Chongs,' he said, ' they go to 
bombard. Meester Chones, tell them I will accom- 
plish an3rthing they wish — only that they do not 
bombard the town, Meester Chones, tell them to 
take their infernal American. He no longer interests 
me.' 

I thought of explaining the situation, but it 
seemed a bit rough on Mr. Pollok to be disowned 
by both sides. I suggested to the jefe that the best 
plan was to send Mr. Pollok in a boat. ' Send 'em 
a note,' I said, 'explaining that he's been expelled 
under Article 33 and cannot be allowed to land 
again.' ' Magnifico ! ' exclaimed the jefe. ' Juanito! 
he said, ' Juanito ! Where is that boy Juanito ? ' 
‘ Patron ? ' cried the voice of Juanito from the 
storm-centre of the crowd — ^without distinction of 
age or sex, all Puerto Miraflores was now on the 
wharf. 

" The jefe then ordered Juanito to run with even 
greater swiftness and tell Mr. Pollok to come down 
to the wharf — all manner of guarantees being 
guaranteed. ' I am not able,' said Juanito sententi- 
ously. ' How not able ? ' asked the jefe. ' Se fue ! ' 
said Juanito. 'When the police left the Plaza he 
lowered himself — and he fled. It will be fifteen 
minutes that he is gone. 


AN INTERNATIONAL INCIDENT 19 

** Juanito gave a dismal cry and burst into tears, 
for on hearing the tidings the corporal of rurales 
had delivered up a stinger on the side of his youthful 
head. As one man the three rurales and the two 
gendarmes turned and fled — desperately — in the 
direction of the Plaza.” 

“That's all,” said the Englishman blandly. I 
should like to know the rest of the story myself, 
but as they never caught Mr. Pollok I never heard 
it. Let us go out now and walk on the Plaza and 
see the girls. There is a band to-night and it will 
soothe me. My manager, Ginckel, has quit, and 
the Santa Ynez is in the charge of Antonio the 
foreman, who will be always drunk now that he 
has no white man to watch over him. The pump 
will stop, and the mine will be flooded. Hang it 
all ! I wish I had a man to take Ginckel's 
place ! ” 

“ Confound your mine ! ” I said. “ You're always 
in trouble. What do you mean by telling me a 
story like that without any proper ending ? Who 
fed this man Pollok on the church ? And why did 

the lieutenant Hold on a moment I ” I cried. 

“Did you not say that his name was William ? ” 
I had just remembered, in a host of dim recollec- 
tions of the past history of Corral, a far-off luncheon 
at the Cedro Mine. “ Pollok ? ” I repeated. William 
Pollok ? Short, thick-set fellow ? I seem to recol- 
lect ” 

At that moment Ginckel entered the club patio. 
“ Py Chiminey,” cried the corpulent manager of 
the Santa Ynez. “ Mister Chones, I haf for you 
efervare hunded. Ve you loog for a man by mein 


20 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


chob I kvit I haf him found. Gom righd in ! Gom 
righd in ! '' he continued to some exterior presence 
beyond the green baize swing-doors. ''Mister 
Chones, meed mein old pardner Bill — der man 
vat knows dis camp before you vas borned. 
Eh ? Shage hands, Meester Chones, vith old 
BiU " 

And solemnly and ruminatively the Napoleonic 
form of William Spenser Pollok passed across the 
threshold. 

Recognition was instantaneous on both sides. 
But let it not be supposed that either of these two 
strong men was betrayed by the unexpected sud- 
denness of the reunion into any weak display of 
emotion. They shook hands. They said they were 
pleased to make one another’s acquaintance. On 
neither side was there any hint of a former meeting. 
Mr. Pollok, as I remember, was eating an apple — 
like Nelson on the quarterdeck of the Victory when 
the little fluttering flags flew upward and Colling- 
wood remarked, "Damn Nelson! he’s always 
signalling.’’ I think it was this fancy which gave 
me my cue. 

"Mr. Pollok,’’ I said rapidly — fearing interrup- 
tion — "I understand from the cries of Mr. Ginckel 
that you are looking for a job. Mr. Jones here is 
going to give you one ’’ 

"Hem 1 ’’ coughed the Englishman. 

" On my recommendation as a former shareholder 
in the Cedro,’’ I added. " But,’’ I said, "there is a 
come-back. Corral, Mr. Pollok, expects that you 
will do your duty.’’ 

" Sure 1 ’’ answered Mr. Pollok mildly. " Mine’s 
a Scotch.’’ 


AN INTERNATIONAL INCIDENT 21 


I banged the bell on the table. 

“ I was not exactly referring to that/' I ex- 
plained, '' although I thank you for reminding me. 
In plain English — ^what about the church in Puerto 
Miraflores ? " 

'' What about it, then ? " asked Pollok. 

Who fed you ? My recommendation depends 
upon the clearing up of this point." 

" Ravens," said Mr. Pollok sulkily. But I refused 
to be quibbled with. 

" I must have the exact facts," I insisted, " or 
no recommendation." 

" See here I " exclaimed Pollok hotly. " Back in 
Oklahoma where I was raised it ain't considered 
etiquette to say nothin’ that might compromise a 
lady." 

Rosa, begad ! " cried the Englishman. " I 
thought as much." 

Mr. Pollok grinned sheepishly. 

"Is it sense to suppose any girl’s goin’ to pray 
six times a day for the recovery of a thing like that 
there Cousin Juan ? ’’ he asked. " Him and his 
cheatin’ ! " 

He snorted angrily at the recollection. 

" But the priest ? " I exclaimed. " Surely 
he ’’ 

" Ain’t goin’ to stick at much for five dollars a 
day," finished Pollok. " Why — there ain’t nothin’ 
in what you’re askin’ about. I had my grip and my 
blankets brought up and lived right elegant until 
the gunboat turned in again and give me the chanst 
to skip out. Where I miscalculated," he proceeded, 
"was not expectin’ that long-legged lootenant to 
do me the dirty way he did. I heard about that 


22 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


later in Tampico. He ain’t got no call to be jealous. 
I never done nothin’ wasn’t strictly gennelmanly, 
even if I am a better looker than him. Oh, pshaw ! ” 
he muttered, more to himself than to me. “ Oh, 
pshaw ! them women ! ” 


THE SOUL OF VELASQUEZ 



NCE upon a time there was a writer of 


tales whose name was Fortescue. The 


same came to Mexico in search of raw 


material. In the interior of that progressive 
republic he found William Pollok. 

To be less premature, he first met — ^in the sandy, 
sunny, disreputable railway station of a northern 
town — a hawk-featured fellow-countryman in Eng- 
lish riding-breeches and an American wideawake. 
This person swore intermittently at a gang of peons 
who were toying with carboys of acid — evidently 
the Englishman's property — in process of tranship- 
ment from a freight -car to a waggon drawn by a 
slumbersome mule. He swore so much — ^the 
Englishman, not the mule — ^that Fortescue, scenting 
copy," edged closer and opened the conversation 
by inquiring when the next train left. 

The Enghshman stared. 

" The next train," he said, “ should leave here 
approximately in twenty-three hours and forty-five 
minutes — that is, if it runs on de facto schedule 


time." 


What is the de facto schedule ? " asked Fortescue. 

" Who knows ? The train has been two hours 
late on the last ten occasions. I take it that that 
is the d. /. s. But there are no fixed rules in this 
country. Anyhow," added the Englishman, the 


24 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


train you just got off is the train. Damn it all, 
what does Pollok mean by leaving me to do a filthy 
job like this ? I won’t do it ! It’s not right ! Hang 
it all, I’m supposed to be his boss, not he mine.” 

” Might I ask who Pollok is ? ” ventured Fortes - 
cue, now in full cry in his hunt for copy. 

” Hijos de — de — de sus madres I ” snapped the 
Englishman. The phrase merely means ” sons of 
your mothers,” in case there should be a doubt. 

” Confound the man, he’s Ah ! ” The last 

carboy, poising perilously a moment on the edge 
of the waggon, miraculously slipped into place. ” I 
beg your pardon ? Oh, Pollok ? Manager of the 
Santa Ynez — discovered him one day on top of a 
church in a place called Puerto Miraflores — brought 
him home and set him to labour in the mines, out 
there in the Sierra ” — ^he swept his hand round half 
the horizon — I’m consultin’ engineer with offices 
here in town.” The mule, responding to outside 
stimulation, suddenly awoke ; and the waggon 
rumbled off over the ruts of the infamous road. 
” By the way,” continued the Englishman, ” you’re 
a new-comer to this happy land, I take it ? ” 

” I am,” admitted Fortescue. ” Not to go the 
actual length of asking you to sit down whilst I 
repeat the story of my life — which would apparently 
be in keeping with local custom ” 

” It would,” agreed the Englishman. 

” I shall confine myself to the statements that I 
am an orphan, that I have a modest competence of 
my own, and that I write sparkling articles for the 
more eclectic magazines ; that I came to Mexico 
in search of local colour, and that I was diverted 
from purely literary researches by a man in Tor- 


THE SOUL OF VELASQUEZ 25 

reon. This man induced me to come here, to the 

City of Corral, to look at 

“ A mine,” said the Englishman. 

Fortescue grinned uneasily, after the manner of 
the puppy who has been caught in an illicit flirta- 
tion with the cake-basket. It is, apparently, a 
good mine,” he said. 

” They all are,” said the Englishman. ” Where 
is this particular Golconda situated — if I may ask 
without seeming impertinent ? ” 

” Funnily enough, in the very district you men- 
tioned. The fact makes me doubly anxious to meet 
your Mr. Pollok, who, I suppose, can give me some 
information about the place.” 

I can do that,” said the Englishman. '' By 
the way, where did you go to school ? Your tie — 
by George ! So did 1 . I say, you can’t put up at 
the hotel, you know — ^too many fleas. Come down 
to my diggings. I infer, from what you have told 
me, that Winter is negotiating another deal with 
the old Cedro. That being so ” — Fortescue had 
started visibly — ” I shall be glad to have a chat 
with you ; for you appear to be a white man, and 
— excuse my apparent bluntness — what Bill Pollok 
would undoubtedly call ‘some tenderfoot.’ ” 

That is how Fortescue came to Corral and met 
the Englishman. He had lunch with his self -con- 
stituted host in the patio, or inner courtyard, of a 
wonderful house where all the doors of the rooms 
opened inwards into the yard — an idea which prob- 
ably originated with the Roman atrium. There was 
a fig-tree in the centre of this patio, and they put the 
table underneath. It ^ was quite Biblical. 

” Winter said you can’t tell much by sampling, 


26 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


did he ? remarked the Englishman, bisecting frag- 
ments of cheese-rind with his knife. ** Well, he s 
right in a way. It's a poor guide in the case of 
many Mexican mines, where the ore's high grade 
and consequently patchy as the devil. Best guide 
in such a case is smelter liquidation-sheets, such as 
he showed you — provided you've proof positive the 
ore came from the property. Mind you," he broke 
off, "I'm not saying anything with particular refer- 
ence to Winter or the Cedro. Just on general 
principles, you know." 

" I think the liquidations were all right," declared 
Fortescue. " The name of the mine was on each 
one." 

" Oh, I've no doubt at all that they came from 
the district anyhow," agreed the Englishman. 
" Question always is, however, did they come from 
the mine itself ? — ^just on general principles, you 
know. I'm not suggestin' an5rthing against Winter, 
of course ; but since I caught him red-handed 
buying stolen ore from our own place I've — ^well, 
it sets a man thinkin', you know. Tell you what 
I'll do," he added. " Pollok managed the Cedro 
once, and knows all about it. I'll take you down 
to the club and introduce you — after the rain 
stops." 

" Rain ? " inquired Fortescue in amaze. They 
had walked from the station under a spotless sky. 

" Look up," said the Enghshman. 

Fortescue looked ; and behold the sky was 
growing dark with miraculous suddenness, and the 
flies — he now perceived — even more offensively 
adhesive with a miraculous stickiness. Even as he 
gazed, a fat drop fell plumply in the sugar basin. 


THE SOUL OF VELASQUEZ 27 

His host proffered a cigar and suggested an ad- 
journment with the coffee to his office. They rose, 
and passed into a room with a red-tiled floor ; 
where two desks, a bookcase, a big chest of drawers 
and a drawing-table littered with plans and maps, 
made up most of the furniture. There was also a 
hen, which had successfully laid an egg on top of 
the bookcase. The Englishman seemed pleased 
with the egg, but irritated by the presence of the 
fowl, which he promptly drove forth into the patio. 
Instantly the heavens rent in twain with an ear- 
splitting crash, the telephone on the wall spat a 
spark an inch long, and the rain came down in 
cartloads. 

Take the deck-chair,'' advised the Englishman. 

The rain does not stop until we have had supper." 

" I thought you said there were no fixed rules in 
this country ? " 

" There are not. But this is a habit — ^like drink 
— lots of fixed habits in Mexico. By the way. Bill 
will be in the company of old Shaw — our agent in 
San Lorenzo — who will offer to sell you another 
mine. That's another habit. Don't buy it. Shaw 
has no right to be so voracious. I pay him a liberal 
salary, and the prices at his store are quite suffi- 
ciently immoral, without his adding further to his 
load of sin. There is a funny old book," he con- 
tinued, fumbling in the bookcase, " which I wanted 
to show you ; but it seems not to be here. What a 
nuisance ! I suppose that's Pollok again. He has 
taken it and lost it. Damn it ! It's not right." 

Suddenly his eye fell on the drawing-board, and 
he emitted a sharp cry of anguish. 

“ Confound his eyes ! Just look at that now I 


28 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


The new plan I so carefully cleaned with pounds of 
bread and yards of rubber looking as if a dog had 
walked over it ! Damn it, why can't he wash his 
hands at least ? He makes a pig-pen of my office, 
and then goes off drinking with old Shaw — leaving 
me to do his dirty work. I'll put up with it no 
more. This is too frightful." 

" Perhaps," suggested Fortescue, after a glance 
at the map in question, " he was overcome with 
remorse and fled to the public baths to avoid the 
possibility of a recurrence." 

" Not he. As long as the bar holds out he'll be 
at the club — Shaw likewise. I know where to find 
them anyhow, which is one consolation." 

As he spoke the little inner door, which opened 
into the zaguan — pron. sah-whan — or portal of the 
square-built house, slowly opened. With a pre- 
liminary shuffling of feet the defiler of plans and the 
habitual purveyor of worthless mines filed into the 
room — oilskin-clad and running little rivulets on 
to the flagged floor. 

" I am," said Pollok, not without a slight hoarse- 
ness which may have been due to the humidity, 
" a mystic." 

" You may be for the moment," corrected the 
Englishman, " but to mortal eyes you look more 
like a fat man with six or seven rounds of Scotch 
under his belt. You have made a beastly mess on 
the new plan. It is hardly four o'clock, and you are 
distinctly the worse for wear. I have done all your 
work, and now you are slopping over the floor. 
For the love of Mike, pitch those water-proofs out- 
side before I kill you. This gentleman, by the way," 
he added, " is Mr. Foitescue, a fellow-countryman 


THE SOUL OF VELASOUEZ 


29 

of mine, and a distinguished man of letters. He 
wants to know about the Cedro.'’ 

'' Glad to meet you,'' smiled Pollok, heaving the 
offending garment into the zaguan. Literature is 
highly thought of in Boston, Oklahoma, where I 
was raised." 

"Mr. Fortescue will be lookin' round for a good 
investment for the money he gets writin'," inter- 
polated old Shaw, a weazened venerable with a 
goatee and a cracked voice. 

" Cut it out," jerked Pollok. "You can take it 
from me, Mr. Fortescue ain't." 

" Well, that's all you know. You keep quiet. 
I know all about you. The police is after you for 
heatin' up the jefe politico of Puerto Miraflores. 
Now th' Ampliacion de Shaw, in the celebrated 
Santa Ynez district " 

" Cut it out," reiterated the stocky manager of 
the Santa Ynez itself. " I foresee that Mr. Fortescue 
ain't interested in any Ampliacion de Shaw. You'd 
ought to know better. I am — as I said before — a 
clear voyant." 

" A what ? " inquired the Englishman in a rather 
awestruck voice. 

" A clear voyant. I foresee things. It's the 
atmosphere reminds me o' the circumstance." 

" More likely the circumstance — which looks dis- 
tinctly alcoholic — reminds you of the somewhat 
atmospheric fact," grunted his consulting engineer. 
" Do you think you can descend to mundane 
matters long enough to give Mr. Fortescue the 
information he's after ? " 

Pollok sank into a chair, which creaked under 
him — though short in stature he is no light weight 


30 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


— and twisted his clean-shaven and wondrously 
mobile features. I know all about the Cedro/' 
quoth he presently. “ I was manager there five 
years ago. It was a highly interestin' experience I 
had on the Cedro first opened my eyes to my 
soopernat'ral gifts. Has Mr. Fortescue got an 
option on the mine ? " 

'' I was thinking about it," confessed Fortescue. 
" Winter offered to let me have six months for 
examination on payment of a first instalment of 
one thousand pesos." 

Pollok cast the look of a startled fawn upon him, 
and old Shaw groaned involuntarily. 

" I guess you can do that, if you feel like it," 
said Pollok politely. " I ain't sayin’ the mine's not 
worth it — maybe there's some ore growed there 
since my day." 

" According to the smelter liquidations there has 
been some very good stuff taken out," explained 
Fortescue. 

" I've heard that too, strangely enough — I guess 
it may be so. I guess you're new to the country, 
Mr. Fortescue ? " 

" I am. I'm afraid. Please tell me about the 
property. I'm beginning to suspect Winter was 
over enthusiastic." 

" I'll tell if Shaw '11 go get the whisky. Th' 
remembrance o' those hawrible experiences makes 
me weak." 

The Englishman took the hint, if hint it could 
be called, and filled four glasses. Gently absorbing 
half his dose, as a preliminary moistener, Pollok 
proceeded : 

" It was five years ago I got the job. A friend 


31 


THE SOUL OF VELASQUEZ 

told me it was a good job to handle. It was, in a 
manner o' speakin'. I got quit of a false friend 
through takin' it. A bunch o' tenderfoots — savin' 
Mr. Fortescue's presence — ^had purchased the pro- 
perty on the strength o' the vendor's opinion of it 
— an' you know what that means." 

" I don't," interrupted Fortescue. 

" Well, I wouldn't despair. It looks like you 
might learn pretty pronto — uncommon like. I 
learned a heap about tenderfoot ideas an' notions 
when I was told the pay-roll was to be met out of 
profits ; an' I learned more " — William's voice 
trailed to an impressive huskiness—-" when I found 
out what I'm goin' to tell you about this mine an' 
the effects it has on those that have any connection 
with it. 

" To put it mild an' briefly, Mr. Fortescue, there 
was no ore in the mine when I took on ; in fact — 
were I not a truthful man — I might say the rock 
was so hungry it was dangerous to go underground 
with as much as a silver dollar in one's pocket. It 
would sure be absorbed. Moreover, I had a heap 
of trouble. Boards o' Directors don't urge you to 
put in an ice plant, an' a club for employ^ to recreate 
in, when the flow of cash is ail one way — an' that 
down the shaft. 

" I get peevish, an' mean, an' irritable with the 
worry of it, so that before long I'm liable to see an' 
imagine any old thing. I'd been huntin' for traces 
of a cross vein, which the old timers spoke of, and 
which I reckoned our last chance. It should — ^so 
they said — ha' run into the main Cedro somewhere 
in the old workings ; where two veins run together 
like that there's often ore. I'd been workin' over- 


32 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


time on this job, an' was sittin' up late in the office 
— ^sketching in a compass survey — when my memory 
slips a cog, an' somehow or other I find myself out 
under the stars, not bein' conscious o' having left 
the office. 

“I'm looking round to take my bearings and 
make sure I am outside, an' not merely dreamin', 
when some one comes up behind me in the dark. 
* Buena noche, cahallero,’ he says. I looked round 
somewhat startled, for I thought I was alone. 
‘ Buena noche,' I tell him. ' Quien es ' * Manuel 
Costillo Velasquez, at your service ' — I didn't know 
the man from Adam, an' could see little in th' 
gloom. ‘ Guillermo Pollok, at yours,' I answered. 
' You want to see me on business ? ' ‘No, sehor,* 
he answers. ‘ Once indeed, I myself managed this 
mine ; but now I am merely a looker-on. But 
yes ! Once I was manager of the mine.' He sighs. 
‘ Then I pity you,' said I, ‘ an' I guess you extend 
the same to me.' 

“ He seemed surprised, ‘ I assure you, cahallero,* 
he says, ‘ that I have known the time when five 
hundred arrastras^ worked on the property. Pity ? 
For Dios, No I The mine is the richest in the 
province.' 

“ I was goin' to say that if five hundred arrastras 
ever worked at one time reducin' Cedro ore they 
hadn't worked very long shifts ; but I remembered 
my manners. I said I wished some o' the ore of 
those days had gone down with the vein. ‘ It is 
the cross vein which carries the best stuff,' said 
Velasquez. 

“ Well, naturally I began to sit up an' take 

^ Primitive crushing-mills worked by horse power. 


THE SOUL OF VELASQUEZ 


33 


notice when he mentioned this ' cross vein * all my 
old miners kept talkin’ about. I said I’d been 
huntin’ for signs of it, cross-cuttin’ and everything 
else ; but I’d still a hundred dollars in the safe for 
the man who could show me anything better than 
a measly lookin’ fissure I’d found on the surface. 

** He seemed surprised ; said there were wor kin’s 
on the cross vein connectin’ with those on the 
Cedro main. To make a long story short, he offered 
to show me the place. I didn’t suppose he could, 
but I took him up. We stroll over to the shaft. 
This is where the first curious thing happened, 
Mr. Fortescue. 

“ I had to waken the engineer, for we didn’t work 
on the night shift ; an’ I tell him I want him to 
lower me an’ another gentleman to the first level, 
an’ then to wait around for half an hour to hoist us 
up again. He seemed to be kind o’ dazed, however, 
for I had to speak twice before he threw the brakes 
off. ‘ You told me there was another gentleman,’ 
he says. * There ain’t more than what you see,’ 
says 1. * What th’ hell are you talkin’ about ? 

Lower away ! ’ He throws out the clutch and 
lowers. 

Gentlemen, I’d no sooner seen the collar of the 
shaft slip overhead than I began to have a hunch 
something was wrong. ' What’d that crazy Indian 

mean ? ’ thinks 1. ' Could he not Oh, pshaw ! ’ 

I says. ‘ Ain’t ye a fool, now ? ’ An’ I tried to 
turn my thoughts elsewhere^ — ^but they wouldn’t 
turn. By the time we reach the station I’m plumb 
positive, if I ever see the light o’ day again, my 
first act’s to be the/ canning ’ o’ the engineer — for 
bein’ a fool or not able to count, or somethin’ in- 

D 


34 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


definite like that. Then, to comfort myself, I take 
my first good look at Velasquez. 

** I get a real mean shock this time ! He's 
wearin' blue knee-pants, rawhide shoes, a shirt 
with lace trimmin's, and a long narrer sword. More- 
over, what Ld taken in the dark for a derby hat, 
turns out, when viewed by candle-light, to be 
nothin’ more nor less than an old rusty steel helmet. 
It didn’t look right — even for a Spaniard, which he 
was by his accent. Real Castilian as he spoke it. 

He looked around, and I saw by the way he 
held his light he’d been underground before. Sud- 
denly it strikes me the old helmet he’s resurrected 
is to save his head in low workin’s. That didn’t 
explain the sword, but it eased my mind. ' Where’s 
this place you are going to show me ? ’ I asked. 

* In what I suppose are now the old workings,’ he 
answers. ' This place is new to me.’ 

“ I was goin’ to remark that the level we were 
on — a level, Mr. Fortescue ? Why, that’s just a 
drift, a tunnel like ; driven from any point in the 
shaft along the vein — was driven by an English 
company fifty years before, but for some reason I 
didn’t. Instead, I just lead the way, sayin’ nothing, 
to an old chute at the end of the drift. There was a 
ladder- way up this — ore-chute an’ man-way com- 
bined — ^up which we climbed to the only stope 
worth callin’ such the mine boasted. ‘ Now,’ says 
Velasquez, ‘ I know where I am. My father took 
ore from here by the old hoca mina* He pokes about 
a spell, and presently cries out : ' There’s a big rock 
slabbed off over the connection,’ he says. ' It must 
ha’ fallen years ago, so it’s small wonder you 
couldn’t find the place.’ 


35 


THE SOUL OF VELASQUEZ 

''I'd passed by that slab before, though it never 
struck me there could be anything under it. How- 
ever, back I go to the station for a crowbar Td 
noticed some careless swine had left there, leavin' 
friend Velasquez to hold down the slab.’' 

Hold down what ? " began Fortescue, then 
paused abruptly as he caught the Englishman's 
eye. 

Pollok grinned. 

Give him his due, I found him fit for harder 
graft than that," he said. '' We sweated a bit, but 
between us we got the rock shifted. Sure enough, 
here's the entrance of an old cross-cut tunnel 
hidden beneath it. It was 'most full o’ broken rock, 
but enough space for a man to scrabble over. Pard- 
ner goes through first, sword an’ all, fairly slick ; 
though I had one hell of a time followin’ him — 
there was hardly room for a fair-sized rattle-snake. 
We slither over, an’ the first thing I know I’m in 
another working like the one we’d left. 

'' It wasn’t a very wide stope — I could put my 
hands on the two walls at the widest place — ^but it 
was a vein anyway ; and there ’d been ore taken 
from it. The floor sloped pretty steep to the south, 
showin’ how the ore body had trended. ‘ Well,’ 
said I, ' I have to thank you for showin' me what I 
apparently couldn’t discover for myself ; though it 
don’t appear the ore here was much stronger, or 
more persistent, than on the other vein — does it ? ' 

' Ah ! ' says Valesquez. ' But the richness ! The 
great tramo above here yielded thousands of pesos, 
and the ore narrows an' widens and inclines to the 
south as it goes down with the vein. It is below 
that one must look for further treasure ' 


36 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


'' His face kind o’ clouds, an’ he stops talkin’ as 
if he wanted to think it over before committin’ 
himself further. Presently he shrugs his shoulders. 

* After all,’ says he, ' after all, it is an old story 

Come, Senor Pollok,’ he says, perkin’ up again. 
‘ If you care to follow I will show you where you 
may uncover, without undue effort, the richest of 
ore.’ ' How did you come to leave it there ? ’ I 
asked. Velasquez hunches up his shoulders again. 

* It had no value to me,’ he says. ' Will you follow 
me, or shall we return ? ’ 

I was on the point o’ sayin’ I’d had enough. 

‘ Who is this Velasquez guy ? ’ I kept askin’ myself. 

* And why for does he skip out an’ leave this ore 
standin’, if he’s tellin’ the truth ; and why did the 

engineer Oh, blast the engineer ! ’ I says, an’ 

follows Velasquez down the stope. 

“ It finished in a badger-hole worse than the one 
we’d got in by. I was grieved to contemplate what 
I’d got to climb through now. ‘ Anyhow,’ I says, to 
comfort myself, ' if he does try any tricks, thank 
God I left my watch on the bureau.’ He was 
peaceful enough, however, when I come gruntin’ 
out through the discharge end o’ his drainpipe of a 
connection. I find myself in a fair-sized chamber. 
By the look of things, the old timers had lost the 
vein here ; for there was a slip or fault of sorts 
runnin’ across the far wall, an’ cross-cuts driven 
east an’ west where they’d been prospectin’ to find 
it again. 

“ I hadn’t much time to speculate, however, 
before friend Velasquez chips in with a noo sensa- 
tion. ‘ Carramba I ’ he cries. ‘ Look what I have 
found ! ’ 


37 


THE SOUL OF VELASQUEZ 

'' I jumped. Not very high, for I ain't built that 
way. But my nerves was shook. ‘ What d’ye find ?’ 
I interrogates. I thought maybe it was a scorpion 
got in under his clothes from the fuss he’d made. 
He pays no attention. ‘ Pedro’s lamp ! ’ he murmurs, 
fingerin’ two or three pieces o’ broken pottery he’s 
picked off the floor. ' Pedro’s lamp which fell from 
his hand as we fled — Dios mio ! Dios mio ! How 
many years ago ? ’ ' Quien sabe P ’ says I, by way 

of a joke, to cheer us all up. He don’t cheer, how- 
ever. " Santissima ! ’ he breaks away — an’ his voice 
is shaky hoarse, an’ his face pale an’ sweatin’ in the 
candlelight — Most Holy Virgin ! What else ? 
What else lies there in the dark to await my return ? 
Aie ! ’ he says — melancholy like. ' Cain ! Cain ! ’ 

“ Picture my feelin’s, Mr. Fortescue ! I ain’t a 
highly strung man ; but such doin’s an’ sayin’s in 
the bowels o’ the earth, about four bells in the 
middle watch an’ in the company of a perfect 
stranger — Holy Smoke ! * Easy ! ’ says I, as soon 
as I can get my voice. ‘ Calm yourself ! Calm 
yourself ! Maybe you ain’t as much to blame as 
you reckon. I seen men shot I ain’t regretted, an’ 
there’s others I know’d stand a heap — ^the man that 
put me on to my present job for one.’ 

“ Velasquez swallows, ’s if he’s tryin’ to choke 
down somethin’. ‘ Come inside,’ he says, passin’ 
in by the cross-cut that was driven to the west. 
In about twenty feet of tunnellin’ this ends, an’ 
I see by the look of things they’ve picked up 
the vein again. There was a drift either way from 
the far end of the cross-cut an’ a four-by-six-foot 
winze, simk, I should judge, twelve feet on the vein. 
There was a pile o’ broken rock at the bottom of 


38 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


this winze. * Here/ says Velasquez, ' you will find 
ore/ * Anythin' else ? ' asks I, lookin' at the rock in 
the winze, an' tryin' to speak calm. ‘ You will find,' 
says Velasquez, ' you will find — Aie Dios ! How 
shall I say it to you ? ' 

" Suddenly he jerks his chin up an' begins talkin' 
low an' rapid like a man in a hurry to get somethin' 
he's learned off his chest. He mostly talks through 
his shut teeth — breathin' hard. ‘ The followers o' 
the great Hernando Cortes,' he said, ‘ were in many 
cases rewarded with grants of land. Among those 
so recompensed was my great-grandfather, who was 
the first to work this mine. It was still payin' hand- 
some when my father gets assassinated by a drunken 

Indian — leavin' me an' my brother ' * Hold 

on ! When did all this happen ? ' I asked. * 1620,' 
says Velasquez, ' was the year father died.' ' Pro- 
ceed,' I told him — ^there is a point where the human 
system gets saturated with scare — * with the 
symphony.' ‘ That leaves me an' my brother,' 
he proceeds, * a man o' coarse an' violent passions, 
to share the estate between us. I did what I could 
to put up with his ways, but it was hard, senor, it 
was hard ! For one thing he's always knockin' the 

peons about ' ' Dam' poor pohcy,' says I. * Yes,' 

he says, ‘ for they are resentful. It is most dangerous . 
This, however, my brother could not see. Matters 
become complicated,' he goes on, ‘ by — by a senorita, 
the daughter of a neighbour ; but the fact that so 
far she shows no special interest in either of us 
helps to maintain the equilibrium. This is the state 
of affairs when my brother goes to Mexico City for 
a visit. Hardly is he gone a week before I'm ap- 
proached by an old miner that's grown grey in our 


THE SOUL OF VELASQUEZ 


39 


service. We’d lost the vein some time before, and 
had picked it up again — as you see — ^here where 
you are standing. I’d left Pedro an’ his sons to 
explore the ground. Now he comes to me, in his 
Indian way, with a considerable amount o’ mystery, 
an’ asks me to go down with him. I followed him, 
Sefior Pollok. In the bottom of this winze I saw a 
sight I can never forget. It was a miracle ! It 
was solid silver upon which I walked, nor could a 
man draw his hand across the floor of the new drift 
— ^fifty yards either way — ^that Pedro an’ his sons 
had driven, without scratchin’ the skin off on the 
wires o’ native metal stickin’ out.’ 

“ ' And then, Senor Pollok,’ he says, ' while I’m 
standin’ in the bottom o’ the winze thinkin’ how 
pleased my brother will be when he comes back an’ 
gets the glad news, a little stone falls on my hand. 
I look up, Senor Pollok. I look up, and I see — Que 
cosa espantosa ! — peerin’ over the edge the face of a 
devil. The face,’ he says, ‘ o’ my brother.’ ' The 
son of a gun,’ says I. ' To come buttin’ in at a 
solemn moment like that ! ’ ' Ah ! ’ says Velasquez. 
' An’ the things he begins to call me — the expres- 
sions unworthy o’ the lips of a gentleman he lets 
drop, makin’ out I’ve been hidin’ this from him 

on purpose ’ ' The brute ! ’ I says. * An’ that 

I’m figurin’ on beatin’ it with the girl an’ the cash.’ 

‘‘ Hold on a minute,” broke in the Englishman. 

Are we to understand that this is a report of your 
pal Velasquez’ actual words — or a rather free trans- 
lation ? ” 

Am I tollin’ this story or are you ? ” retorted 
Pollok. '' Have it which way you like — if there’s 
any more interruptions I quit ! ” 


40 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


Oh, please continue,’' breathed Fortescue. 

“ What was I say in’ then ? Oh — I remember. 
Velasquez tells how his brother converses with him 
from the top o’ the winze. Seems there was a bit 
o’ language fiyin’, words like Iscariota formin’ the 
light trimmin’s to a real serious dialogue. ' Lyin’ 
on his stomach,’ says Velasquez, "on the edge o’ 
the winze he calls me appellatives of a coarseness 
unspeakable — an’ I suffer him. I was patient, 
Caballero/ he says. ' I bore his insuUos, an’ his 
grosierias, an’ his vulgaridades, with extreme an’ 
gentlemanly resignation. I did not complain of his 
injustice, so long as it was levelled at myself. But 
when he casts the most vile an’ unnatural slander 
on the fair name o’ — Eso no ; cahallero ! I couldn’t 
stick that I ’ ' Quite right ! ’ I tell him. ‘ No 

gentleman would ! ’ 

“ ' Who knows how it happened ? ’ says Velas- 
quez, ' but I find myself in the cross-cut — ^an’ swords 
is out ! When I understand what I’m doin’ it’s too 
late. I try to guard myself without hurtin’ him, 
but behind me is Pedro with our two lamps in his 
hand. Though I didn’t know this at the time, he’s 
holdin’ them so’s to shine the light right in the eyes 
of my brother. I wake from a hawrible dream to 
behold the feet o’ my brother pointin’ to heaven — 
an’ my sword is wet. Mea culpa ! mea culpa ! ’ 

‘‘ He beats his chest a spell,” broke off the narra- 
tor, “ an’ I felt right sorry to hear him take on so. 
Poco tiempo he tunes up again : ‘ I become aware 
of the voice o’ Pedro. He is talkin’ to himself. 
“ Now he has died,” says he. Pues entonces, he 
is dead. Don Manuel gave him a big picon — ^with 
his sword — in the heart — and he fell — and he died. 


THE SOUL OF VELASQUEZ 41 

No vuelve — eh?'* An' he grins/ says Velasquez. 
* That's Mex/ I tell him. ' The cold-hearted son o' 
shame ! ' 

Ah, senor ! ' says Velasquez, ' how shall I 
continue ? We dared not leave him there to be 
discovered in the morning. Pedro has drills an' 
powder, an' the rock above the winze is loose an' 
ready to fall. We worked till mawning, as men 
never worked before. Then we lower that silent 
one ; an' with the roar of the blastin' in my ears I 

flee from that hawrible place ' " 

“An' that's how I came to find I was a clear- 
voyant," explained Pollok in mild tones. 

“ But," cried the Englishman, “ what the dickens 

has all this to do with " 

“ Good heavens ! " cried Fortescue. “ You don't 
mean " 

“ I mean that while Velasquez is tellin' me this 
he gets transparent like ; an' I distinctly see the 
figgers o' two men — one in cotton drawers an' 
sandals an' the other in clothes like Velasquez wears 
— runnin' an' crouchin' an' disappearin' finally up 
the rat -hole that leads to the old stope above us. 
An' while I'm ponderin' these things a little bird 
begins to sing, ' Tweet ! Tweet ! ' an' I'm lyin' 
with my head on the oifice-table, an' the sun 
filterin' in through the window." 

“ My aunt ! " exclaimed Fortescue, quite forget- 
ful of the lack — so far — of any real information as 
to present conditions on the Cedro. * What a 

story ! And — and did you " 

“ Did I what ? " 

“ The old stope, you know — er — was it-^ " 

“ Oh, that ! Sure ! I rustled up a couple o' men 


42 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


right away an' went straight down. We found the 
slab, an' it's hard tellin’s which was the most sur- 
prised — the peons or me — when we get her shifted 
an' discover I'd dreamed the whole caboodle as it 
actually was, yes, sir, as it actually was ; bar the 
engineer swore he'd never left his bed. An' we cleared 
the winze " — Fortescue gave an involuntary shudder 
— an' found nothin'." 

" What ? " yelled two voices simultaneously. 
Old Shaw had relapsed into senile slumber. 

" Nothin'. Nary speck o' ore — nary bone o' 
Velasquez Hermano. The vein cuts clean out, an' 
that was the end o' my last hope — ^so far's makin' 
the Cedro a payin' mine went. We shut down a 
month later, when the syndicate's money ran out." 

‘‘ How do you account for that part ? " asked 
Fortescue. 

** It puzzled me a heap. I'll admit, until I find 
this old book here " — he pulled a venerable calf- 
bound quarto from his pocket. " It's called ' The 
Narrative o' John Hancock, Mariner.' It's a right 
ancient book, an' the spellin' would shock Teddy 
Roosevelt ; but I guess there’s a passage might 
interest you." 

Fortescue glanced curiously at the volume — 
which was indeed " right ancient " — and directed 
his attention to the paragraph indicated : 

" Ye estate," he read, " belongeth unto ye de- 
cendants of one Pablo Velasquez, a souldier of the 
Conquest, being held at thys tyme by one Manuel 
Velasquez, hys elder brotherr Francysco peryshinge 
of ane ague whilst in ye City of Mexico ... a most 
kind patron such as butte rarely falleth to a poor 
shippewreckt mariner . . . grievyth me to thynke 


43 


THE SOUL OF VELASQUEZ 

how, being steept in ye Papish Superstitioun, he 
shall surely brenn in Hell's flames. Further hy 
reason that in alle thynges appertayning to ye myne 
he is a most damnable liar.'* 

I underlined them last words,” said Pollok 
calmly. ” My idea bein' that the souls o' the dead 
goes transubstantiatin' down the ages, passin' 
from one body to another ; present occupation o' 
the above-mentioned bein' '' 

” Yourself,” remarked the Englishman. ” 'Ware 
libels 1 

” By the way,” he added, ” who the devil gave 
you leave to borrow that book of mine, and make 
pencil marks on it ? ” 

Old Shaw muttered unrestfully and opened his 

bleared eyes. ” Th' Ampliacion de Shaw ” he 

began. 

” I think I see your moral,” said Fortescue hastily. 
” Thank you very much, Mr. Pollok, for the in- 
formation.” 








THE UNRELIABLES 


A” 


H’M the happiest 
ra-li-do '' sang 


man alive — ^Tu-ra-lu- 
the Englishman ; 


and he drew a circle with his compasses 
in the corner of the plan he was operating upon, 
and marked it with a number for filing. 


“ Ah canna tell ye hoo ah feel, 

Ah feel as if ah could dance a reel, 

For ah’m gaun tae th’ mountains wi’ Jawn McNeil — 
Tu-ra-lu-ra-li-do.” 


** The air is familiar,’' remarked Mr. Fortescue — 
his tenderfoot friend — but who the deuce is John 
McNeil ? ” 

“ A Scotchman like yourself.” 

” So I had inferred from his name. What a 
remarkable brain I must have ! ” 

” John McNeil,” said the Englishman, ” is the 
leading criminal on the board of directors of the 
Santa Ynez Ltd., the flourishing mine of which I 
am supposed to be general manager and consulting 
engineer. William Pollok is the supe, with residence 
ten rods, poles or perches — approximately — north- 
east of the main shaft and a salary of three hundred 
pesos a month. It’s no good my repeating all these 
things to you. You only forget them again. I 
told you all about McNeil a week ago, but you would 
not listen. You were writing a poem.” 

“ I remember. He is a fat man, and has no soul. 

45 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


46 

His chief vice is wearing a made-up tie and his 
principal virtue an overwhelming interest in Presby- 
terian missions/' 

That is what I told you, only you were not 
listening. At the moment McNeil is cumbering the 
soil of Mexico, unless they arrested him on the 
border. I expect him here in a week. He is going 
to rejoice his eyes with the first sight of the Santa 
Ynez, and dictate our future policy." 

" But you said he doesn't know end up about 
mining," protested Fortescue. 

" He has charge of the moneybags," grunted the 
Englishman. " The job before me is to make the 
place look tidy, feed him well and convince him 
that Pollok is telling the truth. Otherwise he will 
get in a nasty temper and order us to shut 
down." 

" Surely he won't do that if the mine is paying," 
cried Fortescue. " He is a Scotchman ! " 

The Englishman looked sadly at the completed 
plan. 

" He would not do that if the mine was paying," 
he said gently. " I must go out to-morrow," he 
added. " I must see what Pollok is up to, and 
arrange for a gentle horse to carry McNeil from the 
railway, and fat feeding at the other end. Every- 
thing depends on this trip. If I can only stave 'em 
off for another year I can put the property on its 
legs. You can come with me if you like. A dis- 
tinguished novelist and brother Presbyterian like 
yourself and an accomplished liar like Bill Pollok 
ought to be able to handle any Scotch director that 
ever absorbed haggis. Besides which old Shaw at 
San Lorenzo will be glad to see you. He still hopes 


THE UNRELIABLES 


47 

that you may take an option on his Ampliacion de 
Shaw/^ 

“ I have taken one/' said Fortescue, and 
blushed. 

Good Lord ! " said the Englishman. 

Before conducting the reader to a point half-way 
on the San Lorenzo-Santa Ynez trail — a point where 
I propose to gather up the thread of this stirring 
tale — I feel it incumbent upon me to explain that 
the term Englishman " as applied to the English- 
man is not intended as a negation of the rights of 
Mr. Fortescue. Mr. Fortescue is a British subject — 
a writer of some note, and addicted to travel. The 
Englishman is a mining engineer with an office in 
the town of Corral in the north of Mexico, and a 
mine to look after in the adjacent Sierra del Tecolote. 
His real name — I believe — ^is Jones, but the American 
and British residents of Corral evidently found this 
title too hard to remember. Perceiving that Mr. 
Jones somehow or other radiated his insular origin 
in a sort of psychic shriek — that new-comers looked 
once upon him and forthwith cried “ An English- 
man, begad ! " or Sir, I perceive that I am talking 
to a representative of the parent race," or '' Say, 
pardner, ain't it strange, but I got a kinder blawsted 
hunch you must be a bloomin' Henglishman, old 
top " — the foreign residents of Corral promptly 
adopted the obvious expedient. 
g:^This explanation may save confusion. Let us 
hasten to the Santa Ynez trail. 

“ Tu-ra-lu-ra-li-do ! For the Lord's sake stop 
playing with that pistol — it's the earmark of a 
greenhorn, and uncommon risky — and tell me what 
the dickens is that I " The Englishman reined in 


48 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


abruptly on the mountain's southern slope and 
pointed down the long canyon beneath. 

It looks like a cow/' said Fortescue. '' What a 
magnificent view ! " 

''I'm not looking at the view," said the English- 
man, and unslung a pair of binoculars. "I'm look- 
ing at the object on the bluish rock to the left. 
There's something extraordinarily bizarre in the 
way of a monument on top of it, and if you want 
my frank opinion it's Buddha." 

" Don't be silly," exclaimed Mr. Fortescue. 
" Buddha is a purely Thibetan divinity." 

" Not now," said the Englishman. " He's emi- 
grated. Pretty soon the peons will be burning 
stolen candles round him, under the impression 
they've discovered a new saint. What a shock the 
jolly old bishop will get ! " 

Fortescue took the glasses. " It's Pollok," he 
murmured, in the tone of one making a new and 
rare discovery. 

" Pollok my foot ! Bill's far too fat to climb up 
that place drunk. If he was sober he wouldn’t try 
to. Besides, he’s the most temperate man in the 
north of Mexico — ^when he’s working." 

" It’s him," insisted Fortescue, between whose 
literary and conversational styles yawned strange 
discrepancies, " It's him meditatin’. Has he 
suffered from the habit long ? ’’ 

" Damn it," said the Englishman, " this must be 
investigated ! What does Pollok mean by making 
a public spectacle of himself before the coyotes 
when McNeil is expected to-morrow ? Everything 
is in a frightful mess, and now he goes and sits on 
a rock as if time were an illusion — leaving me to do 


THE UNRELIABLES 


49 

his work. Damn it, I won't have it 1 It's not 
right ! " 

The December sun — undimmed by even the sus- 
picion of mist or fog — dipped to the sky-line as the 
travellers descended the hill. At the bottom of 
the slope they rode out upon a little valley, sweeping 
with the curve of the stream round the next hill. 
About a quarter of a mile up stream this open flat 
came to an end in two pillar-like columns of rhyolite 
— ^the gate-posts of a long canyon. On the left- 
hand pillar could be discerned the back of Mr. 
Pollok, his face being set southward to the Santa 
Ynez divide. • 

The two travellers cantered almost noiselessly 
over the yielding turf. 

The valley lay in bluish shadow, chill with the 
breath of nightfall ; but a last long shaft of glory 
yet illuminated the squat figure overhead, god-like 
on its lofty pinnacle. Mr. Pollok could not see them. 
He was also, to all appearances, too engrossed in 
contemplation to hear them. 

“ Bill," said the Englishman, addressing himself 
to the broad back of the devotee, " is it right — ^is it 

just — is it honourable " He checked himself, 

and suddenly his upturned face was illuminated by 
a joyful grin. “ Think of your rheumatics. Bill ! " 
he murmured. 

A twitch of the shoulders notified them that the 
dreamer had awakened. I have," said he, "a 
constitutional right to life, liberty an' the pursoot 
o' happiness under whatsoever conditions I blame 
well choose." 

** I'll be hanged if you have ! " exploded the 
Englishman. What right have you to be looking 


E 


50 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


at the view when hell has burst loose and McNeil 
is expected ? Look me in the eye and answer me 
that ! 

“ I take no account of McNeil/' said Pollok 
gloomily and without vouchsafing to turn his head. 

As for the view," he added, with a tinge of bitter- 
ness, “ if you gents will wait a moment the view 
will be round again to speak for itself. Henry," he 
continued in a kindlier tone, and addressing some 
as yet invisible audience on the far side of the 
crag, Henry, old son, for my sake deal gently 
with the young men." 

Whilst he spoke Henry came round the rock, 
travelling at a nervous trot. 

He was not a big bull — but oh, the cat-like agility 
of his movements 1 There was no preliminary 
pawing of the ground, or idle outcry. He went for 
the Englishman with a silent malevolence that 
would have struck terror into the heart of a Crusader. 
Mr. Pollok seized this moment to ask the English- 
man what he would take for his horse. 

The Englishman should not have wasted time 
informing Mr. Pollok that his horse was not for 
sale. There was a juniper tree behind him, spread- 
ing its luxuriant branches across the trail. By 
passing underneath the pony ensured itself an un- 
encumbered flight. 

“ Can bulls climb ? " gasped the Englishman 
from the foliage where he now found himself roost- 
ing. 

'' This one ain't half bad," answered the interested 
spectator, “ but I’d stay up there till he comes for 
you all the same. It’s safer." 

Fortescue came into action as Henry wheeled 


THE UNRELIABLES 


51 


from the abandoned pursuit of the Englishman's 
horse. Twice his revolver roared and gravel spurted 
between the hoofs of Henry ; but of the two Henry 
was the stauncher. Mr. Fortescue’s last coherent 
remark was in answer to Pollok's suggestion that he 
try clipping Henry’s ear with a third bullet. Accord- 
ing to his own account he advised Pollok to come 
down and clip it himself ; although the latter 
declares, and I believe, that his actual comment 
was infinitely coarser. 

Whilst Henry was weighing the advisability of 
pursuing the flying Fortescue, against that of con- 
sidering an Enghshman in the bush worth two on 
the trail, a loud crashing arose. He turned in time 
to see the descent of Mr. Pollok’s consulting engineer 
— still glued to the branch which had betrayed him 
— but was just too late to forestall him in his 
masterly retreat to the airy eyrie already inhabited 
by Pollok. 

Somewhat blown, more than a little scratched by 
his bitter experiences in the tree, yet thankful for 
his manifold mercies, the wondering Briton lay out 
upon the rough summit trying to recover his physical 
and facultative breath. So swift had been the march 
of events within the last few moments of his life 
that it was hard for him to comprehend that this 
thing was no strange nightmare, but an actual 
drama of existence in which he moved and played 
a part. 

As his senses cleared, the unwelcome truth of his 
position became more apparent. The last sparkle 
of the vanishing sun flashed through a scraggy 
oak upon the rocky ramparts of the canyon ; from 
below came the footfall of the relentless Henry ; 


52 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


and through the gathering twilight drifted a thin 
but frosty breeze. 

PoUok began to speak. 

Back in Oklahoma,” he said, addressing him- 
self more to the landscape than his companion in 
misfortune, “ in the old days I’d like to have seen 
the twelve-year-old boy couldn’t handle two o' 
Henry — oh, pshaw ! ” 

” Then how does an old cattle-man like yourself 
come to be up here ? ” suggested his companion. 

The manager stammered a little before answering. 

'' Was afoot,” he grunted. ” Stopped to water 
the horse.” 

The Englishman cocked his eyebrow. 

‘‘ Well, nobody’s askin’ ye to believe me,” 
grumbled PoUok. ” Gimme a horse that's bridle 
wise, an' a rope. I’d learn any steer in Mexico not to 
fool round meJ* He seemed vaguely irritated, so 
his consulting engineer forbore. Presently he 
gathered up the thread of his discourse. ''Not that 
it’s your fault,” he graciously conceded. " You 
know no better. It beats me sometimes to think 
how you know anythin’ at all.” 

The Englishman laughed. 

" I would suggest,” he said, " that neither 
Fortescue nor myself was provided with a rope.” 

"Oh, pshaw ! Ain’t there no other ways ? ” 

" Then why not show me some ? There is the bull. ’ ' 

Through narrowed eyelids PoUok peered over 
the edge to where Henry, apparently in an innocu- 
ous frame of mind, was now grazing. On seeing 
him move, Henry Hfted up his head, and for a 
moment their eyes met. 

" Maybe you’re right,” said PoUok. " Guess this 


THE UNRELIABLES 


53 

chap has ate loco weed or somethin'. How far off 
do you reckon the lit’ry gent is by now ? " 

“ Fortescue ? I expect his pony is in San Lorenzo. 
Lord knows where he may be himself. He’s not a 
good rider.” 

’’ He ain’t,” said Pollok. 

” Then, even if he does get there alive, I’m afraid 
there’s nothing doing. Shaw went off to Corral on 
the train.” 

’’ Th’ hell ! ” said Pollok. 

” And Fortescue only talks French and Hindu- 
stani, which the natives don’t seem to understand 
here. The comisario ’ll most likely stick him in jail 
for a wandering lunatic.” 

Pollok shivered. 

” Meanwhile,” he said, ” we sit here in the fresh 
breeze o’ evenin’. Don’t worry you’re goin’ to 
suffer any heat stroke. The frost’ll be sharper ’n the 
tooth o’ an ungrateful child inside of two hours.” 

“ And McNeil arrives to-morrow,” groaned the 
Enghshman. “ Did you leave things ship-shape at 
the mine ? ” 

” I left things in charge o’ Antonio — an’ he’s a 
Mexican,” snarled Pollok. “ I left a big pile o’ six- 
an’ eight-inch timber clutterin’ round the shaft- 
head, which sticks Antonio lets on he’s goin’ to 
stack neat-like behind the store before I get back. 
I left John Hop ” — John Hop was his Chinese cook 
— “ with orders to buskey eggs at La Union store or 
wherever he can catch ’em. They both got their 
orders all right, all right.” 

Why on earth didn’t you stay and see them 
carried out ? ” 

“ Why ? Whisky ! D’you suppose it’ll pay to 


54 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


leave the choosin’ o' the whisky to a Chinaman ? 
There ain't a drop in the place." 

“ I brought my flask," murmured the English- 
man, and the light of hope kindled in Pollok’s eyes. 
“ But unfortunately I left it in my saddle pocket," 
he added, with ruminative regret — and hope died. 
Steadily the shadows deepened, and the pale moon 
began to assert her position as temporary queen of 
the heavens. 

“ It makes no difference," continued Pollok, 
“ seein’ we’re both apparently due to be froze to 
death. But it makes me kind o' sad to think how 
McNeil ’ll find those sticks o’ timber, an’ how much 
whisky an’ eggs the funeral party’s liable to encounter 
in the house. Depend upon a native to let you 
down. There was a vaqiiero came along the trail 
an hour or so ago," he added. “ I spoke to him, an' 
he offered to ' do up ’ friend Henry for ten pesos. 
Claimed he was savage, an’ the job was accompanied 
by grievous risk o’ bodily harm. Then, when I tell 
him ’what kind o’ parent brings fellows hke him 
into the world to pester folks, he grins in my face 
an' rides off down the trail. That’s Mex ! If that 
was Texas he’d not ha’ done that ; but that’s what 
we’ve got to expect so long’s their Greaser laws 
hinder a decent American from occasionally shootin’ 

one or two of the to learn the rest of them 

manners." 

“ It isn’t right ! ’’ complained the Englishman. 
'' Hang it all, it isn’t right." He propped his chin 
on his knees and sank into a chilly reverie. 

The broken vista of red and blue-grey rock, pine 
and live oak, swam in a deep blue transparency — 
miraculously clear — and brighter grew the moon. 


THE UNRELIABLES 


55 


Gradually a picture of two frozen corpses sitting 
on a rock visualized in the Englishman's mind. 
Under the softening influence of the near approach 
of death he again unbent. 

Supposing we work out some plan of action ? " 
he suggested. It’ll give McNeil a horrid bad im- 
pression of his staff to discover us up here like a 
brace of scarecrows, and I hate the prospect of 
being consumed by buzzards. Let us do something!” 

'' You fix up your plan then, an’ I’ll help you do 
it,” answered Pollok helpfully. “ If this was a 
white man’s country there ’d be a bunch of fellows 
along, soon as Fortescue broke the noos at San 
Lorenzo ; but I’d just as lief trust a Chink as any 
of these people. If it wasn’t for American enter- 
prise they'd be scuddin’ around half-naked, eatin’ 
roots, an’ here’s all their thanks I ” 

Well, kicking won’t help,” retorted the English- 
man. ” If they were people one could rely on they’d 
run their own business, instead of letting in foreigners 
to exploit the country. Pity Shaw went to town. 
He wears a Mexican hat, but he still has a few poor 
remnants of human intelligence.” 

“ What’d he go to town for ? ” inquired Pollok. 

“ Fortescue gave him fifty dollars — the fool. It’s 
the price of a six months’ working option on the 
Amphacion de Shaw. I told Fortescue not to do 
it, but he has no idea of the value of money. He 
could have bought a suit of clothes for that much.” 

Pollok beat his head with both hands. 

'' I advised him to do it,” he groaned. 

Good heavens 1 Had you gone temporarily 
insane ? ” 

“It was only fifty dollars Mex,” complained 


56 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


Pollok. “ I thought if old Shaw had that 
much money to get lickered up he’d maybe keep 
his fool mouth shut. He’s just crazy enough to go 
settin’ McNeil against the Santa Ynez in the hopes 
he’d do somethin’ afterwards with his blasted 
Amphacion. He’d lose the Santa Ynez trade o' 
course — an’ have to shut up his store in consekence, 
for his other trade ain’t worth a two-cent whoop — 
but he ain’t got enough sense left to see that. This 
is what I get for tryin’ to be smart, an’ takin’ 
thought for the morrow ! ” 

Serves you damn well right,” said the English- 
man nastily. ” I knew something like that would 
happen before long, when you gave the contract 
underground to Pablo Gomez, the mule man. I 
don’t believe the man is a Protestant at all. It’s 
not in nature for a Mexican to be any such thing. 
He’s a Free Thinker, that’s what he is, and next 
shot out of the box we’ll have some ghastly accident 
underground.” 

What — for employing a Free Thinker ? ” 

” No, for employing a mule-driver. Besides 
McNeil’s a hot Presbyterian, and your man’s a 
Baptist, if he’s tellin’ the truth — which I don’t 
believe for an instant.” 

” He sure is,” said Pollok earnestly. ” I met the 
missionary that converted him, sellin’ adulterated 
brandy to Perkins’ men on the Union. Gomez is 
a Hard Shell Baptist, which is a very respectable 
an’ decent brand o’ Protestant. I was raised that 
way myself. ’Sides which he allows if we raise his 
price another fifty centavos the metre he’d think 
badly of the Presbyterians. * Es lo mismo,* he says. 
It’s all the same to him ! ” 


THE UNRELIABLES 


57 


“ It isn’t right,” said the Englishman. ** You 
and Fortescue between you have ruined the Santa 
Ynez. McNeil will be here to-morrow, and we shall 
both be dead. There will be no whisky. John Hop 
will be bleary-eyed with opium, and Antonio will 
be savagely drunk. The timber will be strewed all 
over the patio, and the mine will have caved in 
underground from Gomez not timbering his place 
properly. McNeil will get a bad impression of the 
place. Hang it all, it’s not right ! ” 

As if in despairful supplication of unpitying Fate, 
he threw his arms heavenwards and beat rhythmic- 
ally on his resounding bosom. Pollok followed suit, 
and for a space both flapped in the moonlight like 
uncouth night-birds. On a distant mountain side 
a belated Indian beheld them, crossed himself 
hurriedly and fled trembling down the trail. Even 
Henry appeared moved by the spectacle. 

Exhausted, yet little warmed, they ceased their 
efforts. For all their pride of race, and dogged scorn 
of tame submission to the Reaper’s scythe, the frost 
seemed to be getting in its work. Earthly hope 
was indeed dead, and even Pollok’s heartfelt prayer 
that misfortune might dog the footsteps of the 
covetous cowboy became flat and unprofitable. 

The cold appeared to have numbed their very 
souls. 

” That’s not a bravo bull,” said Pollok, com- 
paratively speakin’.” 

He spat indignantly in the direction of the placid 
Henry, and the latter again raised mild eyes to his 
as if in approval of his sentiments. 

“ Back in Oklahoma ” began Pollok, and 

paused. Henry pawed up a few feet of turf and 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


58 

emitted a low moaning sound. “ Oh, pshaw ! '' 
said Pollok. “ With regard to old man Shaw, 
Antonio, John Hop, the vaquero swine who come 
along here this afternoon an’ all the other inhabitants 
o’ these parts — all of whom I class as heathen 
natives — I can give you one infallible rule to go 
on. What you naturally count on the sons o’ guns 
doin’ is just what they ain't goin’ to do — an’ vice 
versa. I guess you an’ me — if we ain’t froze — will 
have to hunt a new job. We’re here for the night, 
an’ McNeil’s goin’ to shut down the Santa Ynez.” 

“ We are due to be frozen,” replied the English- 
man bitterly. I am already suffering from 
hallucinations.” 

“ How much ? ” 

“ Hallucinations ! Seeing things — unless the 
ponies hereabouts have wings.” 

” Not as a rule,” answered Pollok. Without much 
display of interest, but impelled by the remnants 
of natural curiosity, he turned to look. ” By Heck,” 
he added, in a slightly more animated tone, “ it 
does look rather like it, don’t it ? What sort o’ 
bird do you reckon that is ? ” 

” It’s not a bird. It’s a flying horse. Do you 
think I don’t know a flying horse when I see one ? 
It’s a Pegasus of the Sierras, and we are both dead 
men.” 

Lordy ! ” said Pollok. 

'' It don’t appear to soar anything to speak of,” 
he continued presently. ” Let’s give it a shout. 
Maybe it talks Spanish.” 

He rose to his feet, and the Englishman did like- 
wise. Up the gulch drifted a long, two- voiced, 
quavering hail. 


THE UNRELIABLES 


59 


Or ever the echoes died a faint but cheerful yell 
answered back, and distinctly across the mountain 
silence drifted the distant clatter of a brisk trot. 
The moon shone brightly on the statuesque pines 
and the thick-growing oak scrub which filled the 
bed of the canyon. Out through an open space — 
glinting momentarily to vanish again — drifted the 
strange steed, and again the Englishman saw the 
beating white wings on its flank. 

Pollok bent his heavy brows in thought ; then 
groaned. 

I have it,” he remarked bitterly. ” It’s John 
Hop ! ” 

It was. 

It should be explained, perhaps, that John Hop 
has a method or mode of equitation entirely his 
own. It consists of a series of bounds from the 
back of his palfrey, carrying him, at each step, a 
matter of a foot to about eighteen inches out of 
the saddle. You or I could not do this, for we 
should fall off, but John is in the control of a special 
Chinese providence — some patron joss as it were — 
which so to speak pats him back whence he arose. 
It is like the rebound of a beaten ball from the floor. 
He rises and falls continually in a sort of ” posting ” 
movement carried out upon a scale of unparalleled 
magnificence. 

Even John Hop, however, cannot do this thing 
and at the same time keep his trousers down. In 
clear weather you can tell who it is, from the snowy 
underwear, at the greatest distances. 

This, nevertheless, is digression. 

What stunned the besieged into a state of hope- 
less apathy was the fact that Fate now seemed to 


6o 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


have sent — to mock their misery — perhaps the 
least competent person available to handle such a 
situation as sentinelled the base of the rock. They 
looked forward, with morbid interest, to a scene of 
destruction and bloodshed. A bull and a Chinese 
cook would now play the traditional parts of the 
traditional bull in the traditional China shop. 

At the last, however, an impulse of self-abnega- 
tion stirred the hearts of the men of the superior 
race. Rising together, they once more shouldered 
the white man’s burden. With oaths and loud 
outcry they ordered John Hop back. 

Apparently he failed to understand. To their 
dismay he answered with a cheerful shout and the 
stroke of a pliant twig athwart the pony’s flank. 
The latter broke into an easy lope, and the bound- 
ing became less pronounced. 

“ Hul-lo, Mis’ Pollok ! What you do the-ah ? 
Hip cold ! ” 

“ Well, you’ll not be heap cold long,” bellowed 
Pollok. ” Get back out o’ here. There’s a danger- 
ous bull below.” 

” Bu’ ? ” John reined in, and his tone was that 
of mild surprise. ” How you cat chum bu’ ? ” 

” Never mind how I catchum. Him here ! Pretty 
soon him knock you galley-west out o’ this world 
of sin, if you don’t step lively. Get — you heathen ! 

” And tell Antonio to send two mounted men 
with ropes,” added Pollok as an afterthought. 

” Antonio come plitty soon,” answered the un- 
ruffled John. He showed not the slightest intention 
of following instructions. ” Where bu’ ? ” he in- 
quired. 

The question was unnecessary. A crashing arose 


THE UNRELIABLES 


6i 


in the bush, and Henry strode across his path. The 
spectators waited anxiously to see the end. 

As to what followed I cannot get any definite 
statement out of Pollok, and the Englishman is 
equally reticent. As far as can be deduced — from 
circumstantial evidence and the witness of Antonio, 
who saw part of the performance and told me the 
tale with shouts of laughter — it was this : when 
John Hop saw the bull before him he gave a loud 
and burly cry — conceiving it, perhaps, to be a cow 
— and brandishing his stick he rode fiercely towards 
the enraged animal. 

And Henry ? 

Well, Henry ran away ; and John Hop pursued 
him with insults, and even with blows, a matter 
of a quarter of a mile. 

When he returned from the chase he found 
Pollok and the Englishman had descended. With 
them was Antonio, foreman of the Santa Ynez. 
Antonio was explaining that he would have come 
sooner — fearing some mishap — ^had he not been 
kept working overtime on a matter of removing 
timber. He was very sorry ; but he felt it his duty 
to see that orders were carried out in the first place. 

“ My go La Union sto’ah. Mis' Pollok. Catchum 
whisky — alee same ‘ blue label ' — alee same you 
likee dlink — catchum fi', six, egg. Not 'nuff ! My 
go San Lolenzo now. Catchum mo’ah egg. China- 
boy La Union cookum suppah you. Him my fliend." 

Which being interpreted meant that John Hop 
had obtained whisky of a reputable brand at the 
La Union Mine store, that he had also obtained five 
or six eggs, and that he was now on his way to San 
Lorenzo to get more eggs. His friend and fellow- 


62 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


countryman from La Union had volunteered to 
shoulder his duties and prepare Mr. Pollok’s supper. 

“ Which just proves/’ remarked Pollok, “ what I 
was sayin’. Whatever you naturally count on the 
sons of guns doin’ is just what they ain’t goin’ to 
do — an’ vice versa. Muchas gracias, Antonio. We 
prefer to walk. It’s not far, and it’s a cold night.” 

Fortescue arrived at the mine an hour later, 
spattered with mire, but leading both horses. The 
next day the Englishman rode back to the railway 
and brought out Mr. McNeil. The latter compli- 
mented Antonio on the tidy appearance of every- 
thing and waxed facetious about the good feeding 
and the good liquor at Pollok’s house. He was 
introduced to Pablo Gomez, the Protestant con- 
tractor, and said that he was “ verra interestin’ an* 
a remarrkable sign o’ grace,” and Pablo smote 
himself on the bosom and replied, ''Si, sefior, Pres- 
heteriano good fello’. Goddam ! ” which Pollok trans- 
lated into something complimentary about the ore. 

I understand that Mr. John McNeil carried home 
a very favourable report on the state and future 
prospects of the property. 


THE STEALERS 


“IW T EVER raise your hand in anger to a 
native,” said William Pollok, superin- 

JL ^ tendent of the Santa Ynez Mine. 

This was refreshing counsel from the lips of one 
who is yet wanted in one of the Mexican Gulf ports 
— Puerto Miraflores, to be exact — ^for two-thirds 
slaughtering the cousin of the jefe politico. Fortescue 
grinned. 

I see what you’re thinkin’ of,” continued William 
piously. “You imagine I am about to say how you 
should go to bend a crowbar acrost his head instead. 
No, sir ! Nor that either ! When you’ve been in 
the country ’s long ’s I have you’ll ha’ learned to 
observe how nice an’ polite they treat one another. 
It don’t matter how poor an’ humble, they always 
aim to talk gentle an’ courteous. You don’t see 
no bawlin’ an’ cussin’ an’ kickin’ about, among 
these people ; an’ seems to me the foreigners in the 
country ” 

What the foreigners in the country ought to do, 
or to leave undone, Mr. Fortescue was not destined 
to hear. Among the group of peons around the 
shaft-head arose a squeaking sound, and presently 
forth ambled an amazing little tatterdemalion with 
his hat respectfully clasped to his narrow bosom 
by both hands. 

“ Que queres ? ” said Pollok. Whereupon the 
63 


64 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


man checked his tumultuous complaint, ran back 
to the beginning again, and commenced his tale of 
sorrow anew. 

Fortescue eyed him with interest, for Fortescue’s 
real occupation is Work with his Pen. 

He is expert at Eyeing with Interest, and the 
man was unique. He appeared to consist prin- 
cipally of trousers. He was so rabbit-like, so 
shrivelled and ineffective, and his nether wear so 
voluminous. 

They were old, old trousers — hoary relics which, 
no doubt, had passed from father to son for genera- 
tions. They were based on an original field of blue 
dungaree, but all the rules of heraldry had been 
broken since in the repairing of them. Old, patched 
trousers ! 

I mention them because they come into this 
story, which is a sad story, again. 

The little peon hopped excitedly from one san- 
dalled foot to the other before the stumpy, stolid 
American. In shrill and quavering treble he un- 
folded the iniquitous doings of one Pablo Chacon, 
the big Yaqui Indian, who quitted me the dyna- 
mite d, fuerzas, senor — by force, senor,” and had 
called him — well, never mind the exact expression — 
and, by this dastardly conduct, “ prevented me 
from performing a satisfactory day’s work ” — and 
had therefore imperilled his job. 

“ Is this true ? ” demanded Pollok. 

The queue of men which ranged from the shaft- 
head to the self-important velador — who searched 
them one by one as they came off shift — laughed 
heartily. “ Si/’ drawled the laconic accused— his 
face suggested a highly cultured flunkey who has 


THE STEALERS 


65 

just discovered a tadpole in the teapot — “ Si-i, 
half a stick. That which he had saved to steal. 
Si-i-i-i ; I robbed him — 1 had necessity.’’ 

His frankness rather took the wind out of Pollok’s 
sails. 

Give him back a stick to-morrow,” he grumbled. 

Basta ! Enough ! ” 

The be-trousered one replaced his hat and started 
for home at a brisk shamble, with the hems of that 
masterful garment trailing in the dust. He had 
reached the edge of the dump before Antonio the 
foreman called him back. “ Oh thou,” said Antonio 
— his hands in his pockets, his back propped on a 
leg of the gallows-frame, and a dreamy, non- 
committal smile on his swart features — “ Hernando 
Ysabel Gavaldon, have they searched thee ? ” 

Hernando, etc., hopped nervously back into line, 
and spread his pipe-stem arms, as if in mute appeal, 
before the velador. 

” What is his name ? ” said that official to An- 
tonio, as he performed the usual perfunctory stroking 
process. 

” Hernando,” observed Antonio, fishing for his 
packet of cigarettes in his hip-pocket, but resolutely 
determined to fall down the shaft rather than move 
his back an inch from its perilous leaning-post. 
” Why do you ask ? ” 

I had thought it was Joseph,” explained the 
velador gravely. '' H ombre, of a truth dost thou 
not remember if these thy pantaloons were not at 
one time a saco — a jacket ? ” 

No, senores,*’ piped Hernando. Coat never ! 
Pure pantaloons ! ” 

They did not look very pure. 


F 


66 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


“ He has forgotten,” observed the velador sagely. 
'' This Jose, of whom I speak, was a very evil man. 
He wore a coat — or trousers, it is the same — of the 
identical factory that turned out thine, the pattern 
being the same. Therefore his brothers sold him to 
a hirer of contract labour, who sent him to the 
United States — or Egypt — it is the same ” 

'' Where he was put in jail,” interpolated Antonio, 
taking up the parable. 

Hernando shivered. 

” With the motive that he had made improper 
advances to the sefiora of his patron,'' continued the 
delighted velador. ” Pues, of a truth thou must be 
he. Tell those girls that are hanging about the store 
to go home, Antonio. I am about to release the 
Sehor Don Hernando Jose Ysabel Potifar Pantalones 
y Gavaldon. Look how he eyes them ! ” 

He shook Hernando’s breeches in derision, and 
turned him loose. Away he trotted — amidst the 
laughter of the women — a sorely flustered mannikin. 

” To return to the original subject o’ discourse,” 
resumed Pollok. ” I say it ain’t in accordance with 
my principles, nor the custom o’ the country, to 
strike no native. No sir, not even if I was to find 
who it is liftin’ that high-grade ore from Number 
Seven stope.” He glared savagely at the line of 
innocents. ” Search ’em well, Juho,” he said. 
” Search ’em well ! Ain’t they the thieves though, 
Mr. Fortescue ? ” 

They drifted off into the ofiice, and Pollok en- 
deavoured to explain how much could not be ex- 
pected of a people who could not be restrained, 
even, from robbing one another. He spoke also of 
his “high-grade,” and the extraordinary facihty 


THE STEALERS 


67 

with which the peon manages to hide his most 
unlaundried conscience under a front of mild and 
guileless stupidity. 

'' Niggers ain’t in it with ’em,” said Pollok, and 
passed easily to a prayer for the future of the race 
which, I regret, I cannot submit before a decently 
censorious public. 

Let’s go down,” said Fortescue, when the 
cursing had died away. “ It must be supper-time.” 

John Hop, the Chinese cook, was on the porch 
of the house in the canyon below. 

'' Misigan come,” he intoned, as they drew near. 
“ Say my gibbum dollah. You sendum ? ” 

Pollok denied, and John Hop broke’ into strange 
high-palatial Chinese. 

“No gettum ! ” he cried triumphantly at the 
last. “No catchum ! Go’ dam’ liah ! ” 

“ Imagine folk,” said Pollok, sinking wearily 
into a chair, “ what’ll go to the vexation o’ per- 
jurin’ their souls to work a dollar out o’ a Chink — 
oh pshaw ! My God,” he continued devoutly — ^his 
mouth being then full of steak and onions — “ there 
ain’t but one man in the whole o’ this camp, ’sides 
myself, that’s honest. And you'd never guess who 
that is.” 

“ Perkins ? ” suggested Fortescue, as the most 
improbable man. 

Perkins was superintendent of a rival company 
next door. 

“ Perkins ? Huh ! Barrabas ? Perkins may be 
straight in the lit’ry sense o’ that word, but, jollyin’ 
apart, how about that same Hernando Ysabel 
Gavaldon — commonly known as * Pantalones ’ — 
what you saw on the dump a half-hour ago ? ” 


68 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


Fortescue laughed fatly. 

I mean it,” cried William, to Fortescue's amaze- 
ment. “ He’s straight, simply because he ain’t got 
the nerve to be nothin’ else. He’s a harratero too, 
not a peon. It’s kind o’ strange havin’ an honest 
miner, for they’re the boys that know the ore.” 

Strange Hispano-Chinese discourse arose without. 
“ Quita ! Fuela f Patlon ya ocup’ao ! ” 

'' The Patron's not as occupied as all that, John,” 
shouted Pollok. “ Who’s there ? Antonio ? ” 

Mr. Hop was understood to imply that doubly 
damned “ Misigan ” had returned for triply qualified 
dollah.” Pollok flushed with vexation, and sug- 
gested that John Hop show the culprit in, that he 
would give him a dollar, in a manner of speaking. 

The door opened, and Pollok staggered back with 
one hand upraised as if to ward a blow. In the full 
glare of the lamplight stood Honest Hernando 
Ysabel. “ And /Aow,” said William weakly. “Didst 
thou tell the Chino that I sent thee for money ? ” 
Hernando’s hat was only held in the customary 
respectful manner — chest-protectorwise — by one 
hand. The other was employed supporting his 
overalls, the cheap woollen sash which usually 
rendered such service having disappeared. He 
made an abortive attempt to rotate his hat — in- 
stinctive, but impossible under the circumstances — 
and quivered pitifully in his terror. 

“ But yes,” he warbled. “ But of a manner 
privately. That is to say, patron, I besought a little 
loan — of a manner that my papa is dead — and I 
very poor — very humble. I did not say it was an 
order, patron. I did not say you sent me. Order — 
no ! Chino no saheP 


THE STEALERS 


69 

“ What do you want now ? ” interrupted Pollok, 
before Mr. Hop had time to resent the slur on his 
linguistics. 

Hernando’s dog-like eyes sought the superin- 
tendent’s, and the dozen or so hairs which adorned 
his chin shook with emotion. 

“ Pues — they have quitted me the sash, patron — 
what can I do ? Now am I robbed, and have not 
that wherewithal to uphold me the pantaloons.” 

” What a beastly shame ! ” cried Fortescue. 

Hernando understood that he had gained sym- 
pathy, and his lips trembled. He improved the 
occasion by suggesting that Pollok should now open 
the store — on the summit of the mountain, be it 
said — ^to sell him another sash. A cheap sash, suit- 
able for a poor man, recently robbed and with but 
one pair of trousers in all the world. 

” Look here, Hernando,” said Pollok, “ if you 
imagine I’m a-goin’ to climb eight hundred feet at 
this time o’ night, just to sell you a faja, why, you’ve 
got another guess cornin’ — no sabe ? Well, wait 
here a minute — espere teP 

He vanished into his bedroom, to return with an 
old leather belt ; and when Hernando understood 
that there was nothing to pay for this he was glad 
to the depths of his little heart. He shuffled about 
undecidedly for a minute or so, and then his grati- 
tude began to take definite form. 

” Patron” he murmured, ” very thievish, this 
people.” 

” Should keep more of an eye on your things,” 
reproved Pollok. 

” Si-i-i. Pues — patron — other things ! ” He 

blinked, and wagged his head knowingly. ” Here — 


70 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


thus ! '’ He slapped his shirt on either side above 
the belt. “ The ore, patrdn, the ore ! ** 

Who ? '' snapped Pollok. Hernando’s voice 
dropped to an alarmed whisper. 

“ No se. I do not know. Pues — Patrdn — I a 
man very poor, very frightened. Very thievish, this 
people. They quit the poor labourer the powder; 
pues entonces, they quit the gerente the ore.” 

WeU ! ” remarked Mr. Pollok to Mr. Fortescue. 

Fortescue held an option on a worthless claim, the 
“ Ampliacion de Shaw,” which he was working in a 
desultory fashion with two men and a boy on con- 
tract. It came about that he rode over to this 
claim of his, next day, and he did not return until 
late. 

He was riding down the bed of the arroyo, or 
ravine, just below the Santa Ynez on the north side 
of the mountain, when he imagined he heard a 
rustling in the underbrush overhead. “ Fox ? ” 
said Mr. Fortescue nervously — ^he does not beheve 
in ghosts, but it was very dark — and he reined in to 
listen. There was a moment’s silence, and then a 
faint metallic sound, as if some one had gently 
deposited a tin vessel on the stony ground. 

“ Who is there ? ” cried Fortescue. 

N o answer. 

Fortescue rode on. 

It so happened that Pollok was delayed at the 
mine that evening. Fortescue is a deliberate thinker, 
and the absence of the superintendent gave him an 
opportunity to revolve more thoroughly two in- 
cidents which otherwise might have been allowed to 
drop from his memory. It had just occurred to 


THE STEALERS 


71 


him that his experience in the arroyo might bear on 
a few chance words overheard around the peon's 
quarters. 

'' What is a hole ? " was his first remark as 
Pollok ambled in to supper. 

The word is pronounced '' bo-tay/' by the way. 

Coal-oil can/’ said Pollok. 

** One of those big square tins ? ” 

"?Yeah. What’s troublin’ you ? ” 

I just remembered,” said Fortescue, " hearing 
that big Pablo fellow asking Juan Ramirez 
for the loan of a bote two or three days ago. It 
sounded a simple enough request, but they both 
seemed to find it funny. I wonder what he’d want 
that for ? ” 

“ Carry water, probably,” said Pollok, removing 
his coat and drawing up his chair to the festive board. 

“ They’re very like the Irish in some ways, these 
fellows,” continued Fortescue irrelevantly. ” Curious 
kind of grin these fellows have — ’s if they were 
too overpowering shy to live — but — but — very like 
the Irish — what ? ” 

" So long as you don’t mention it,” said Pollok, 
” to any Irishman of yo’re acquaintance, I see no 
harm in you holdin’ such beliefs.” He helped him- 
self gravely to six tablespoonfuls of peas — for he 
had a good appetite. 

Talkin’ of botes," insisted Fortescue, “ what 
would a fellow be doin’ with a bote full of stones, 
draggin’ ’em around the old workin’s at this time 
of night ? ” 

“ Heh ? ” roared Pollok, and narrowly missed 
swallowing his knife. What’s that you said ? ” 

” Bote of stones,” gurgled Fortescue. ” Heard 


72 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


'em shuggle, and the clink of the tin when he put it 
down — you aren’t feelin’ ill, are you ? ” 

“ No ! ” gurgled the superintendent. '"I’m feelin’ 
bully.’* He did not look it. “ Proceed with yo’re 
narrative. What did you do ? Help him to carry 
’em down to his house ? ” 

“ No,” said Fortescue, ‘‘ I shouted ' Quien es? ’ ” 
— Pollok almost screamed — “ but since he didn’t 
seem disposed to answer, I just rode on.” 

” The glimmerin’s o’ intellect ! ” mused Pollok, 
half aloud. He poured his coffee violently into the 
saucer and drank it down with a shrill, sucking 

sound. “ If they ain’t suspicioned ” he began ; 

then paused sharply and twisted his features in 
visible thought. “ No ! ” he murmured finally — 
still more to himself than Fortescue. ” They’ll be 
off by now, an’ we’d only rouse suspicion. Pablo 
Chacon — eh ? Well, I’ll get ye this time, pardner, 

or See here, Fortescue,” he broke off. ” Not 

a word o’ this to anyone else — sahe ? You stay here 
to-morrow, an’ we’ll have a squint round when the 
men’s in the mine. Makin’ a deepo out’n my old 
workin’s, are they ? Now I wonder how in thunder 
they get the stuff out there ? ” 

On information received from one Hernando 
Ysabel Gavaldon — supplemented by the narrative 
of Mr. Fortescue — Pollok took special pains to see 
Pablo the Yaqui safely down the shaft next morning. 
Then he and Fortescue strolled absently to the sum- 
mit of the mountain, where — they were still in full 
view of the surface employees about the mine — 
they spent full five minutes in ostentatiously point- 
ing out distant objects of no possible interest. 

Then they fared north-right, down the other side 


THE STEALERS 


73 


of the hill, until they encountered a thing like an 
earthquake fissure on the flank of the mountain. 
It was, in fact, the place where dead and gone 
miners had gouged out a superficial lense of ore 
from the more westerly of the two veins. There 
are two parallel veins on the Santa Ynez, and the 
workings are connected by cross-cuts. 

Passing down-hill to the northern extremity of 
this colossal trench, Fortescue and Pollok were able 
to walk right into the three-foot gap between the 
rock- walls. They turned southwards down the 
steeply sloping floor of what soon became a narrow 
cave — shut off from daylight by the overhanging 
brow at the southern extremity of the open-work. 
Old steps — cut in the solid rock in days when ore 
was carried out in cowhide zurones — led them deeper 
and deeper into the deeps of the mountain. In 
places they had to shuffle along with both hands on 
one wall and with the other overhanging Hke a 
threatening cliff — so strait and crooked was the 
working. 

“ So far as I remember,’' remarked Pollok airily, 
as he lit his candle, “ the roof’s fell in between here 
an’ the noo’ workin’s. Shouldn’t wonder if it did 
it agen. But you can go back if you feel like it.” 

'‘I’m game,” said Fortescue — albeit through set 
teeth ; for the air was sticky and heavy, and a 
small stone fell rattling in the depths beyond. The 
moral effect of that stone was tremendous. 

“ It sure has fell in — an’ not so very long ago,” 
continued Pollok presently. “ Look here ! ” 

Fortescue found himself in the presence of a pile 
of broken rock — perhaps two hundred tons — which 
he observed with displeasure had obviously descended 


74 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


from above. Some of the blocks were as big as a 
chest of drawers ; and Fortescue began to perspire. 
He felt worse when his companion began solemnly 
to ascend the mound. 

“ Holy Moses ! ” exclaimed Pollok, flashing his 
light upwards. ‘'But I draw little comfort from 
the appearance o’ this here roof.” 

“ Then why stand in the most dangerous place 
you can find ? ” complained Fortescue. 

” Oh, pshaw ! If it’s goin’ to drop on us there’s 
no use grievin’ about it beforehand.” 

The argument failed to comfort Fortescue, so he 
took his courage in both hands and herded the 
phlegmatic William as rapidly as he could to the 
other side of the dangerous ground. 

They found the roof in better condition here, but 
much lower. In five or six yards’ progress it had 
dropped from perhaps twenty feet of headroom to 
a matter of three feet. For another yard or two 
they were able to continue crawling. Then the 
crawl became a wriggle, and finally Pollok stuck 
fast between the solid roof and walls and the debris 
below, with his head down-hill and the light of 
Fortescue’s candle reflected from the hob-nails 
which garnished the soles of his boots. 

“ It ain’t far from here to a drift on the second 
level,” he explained thickly. “ There used to be a 

connection, but the fall The fall closed it,” he 

continued brokenly. He seemed to be struggling to 
thrust or wriggle his girthsome body into an opening 
never designed by Providence for the accommodation 
of such as he. 

“ Hoo ! ” he said suddenly. “ Would ye look at 
this ? ” 


THE STEALERS 


75 

“ Don't be an ass," complained Fortescue. " How 
can I ? " 

“No ? — Hoo ! — I f ergot ! — nev' min’ — ^hoo — say } 
— HOO!" 

He choked badly, and Fortescue, with great 
presence of mind, laid hold of his heels and with- 
drew him — an uneasy process for William — before 
he had time to suffocate. 

“ Son ’f he-goat," sneezed Pollok. “ Some son ’f 
goat ’s been opened up con-con-connecshion." He 
drew a deep breath or two, and continued more 
coherently. “ They’ve dug through the fall," he 
explained, “ an’ though there ain’t room for the 
likes of me, a native could get through all right. 
I could see right in to the drift beyond. What d’ye 
think o’ that now ? " 

“ I don’t quite follow," said Fortescue. 

“ Why, it’s as clear as mud ! Pablo an’ his 
friends know ’bout these old workin’s, so they just 
nach’lly get to work an’ dig them a hole from the 
second level hangin’ wall drift, that’ll do to pass out 
the ore by — without goin’ near the shaft where the 
velador's watchin’. I guess the way they work it is 
just to slip down nights an’ lift anything they take 
a fancy to. Don’t quite see how Pablo could get 
through that there hole, but maybe he sends a 
boy — or maybe — well, anyhow, here’s where my 
ore gets stole. Will you do me a favour ? ’’ 

“ Certainly," said Fortescue. 

“ Then ride over to San Lorenzo, an’ tell Con- 
cepcion O’Rourke, the comisario, an’ his brother 
Patricio, the constable, to come over quietly 
after nightfall an’ have some fun. You’ll have 
to talk Spanish to ’em — Pat’s onfortunate face 


76 WILLIAM POLLOK 

ain’t nothin’ but heredity ; like Concepcion’s 
temper.” 

The rest of this tale is the sad part I mentioned. 
It exemplifies the Frailty of Human Nature and 
the Evanescence of Gratitude. About eight o’clock 
that night Fortescue rode up to the superintendent’s 
house with the dark-faced, peppery little comisario 
and the enormous Patricio in his wake. Both the 
O’Rourkes were girt with vicious-looking hand- 
cannon of that reliable type known as the “ Colt 
Frontier Forty-five,” and the outlook for un- 
suspecting Pablo was gloomy indeed. The con- 
stable’s hereditary feet were encased in top-boots, 
of which more shall be said anon. 

It was obvious — the mine being emptied of men 
— that no steps were necessary until some one had 
been seen to return to the workings. Not trusting 
the night velador, Pollok concealed himself behind 
a tree near the old workings, and left the others to 
watch the shaft from the bushes below. Three 
whistles were to notify the party to concentrate — 
the scheme being to let the thieves enter the mine 
and catch them red-handed as they came out with 
the stolen ore. For some reason, however, the gang 
appeared to have altered its visiting hours ; and 
the strain of waiting until three in the morning, 
without even the solace of a cigarette, was hard 
on Patricio. 

At the time mentioned, 3 a.m., Pollok’s liquid 
notes thrilled through the windless silence, and three 
anxious men rose from their lairs and crept upwards 
under the stars. The superintendent joined them 
in the arroyo below the old workings. 


THE STEALERS 


77 


I only seen one man go down,” he said, “ but 
I guess there may be others goin’ down by the other 
rowt — down the shaft ladder-way. If the velador 
ain’t asleep he’s in cahoots with them, so he’d not 
see ’em in any case.” 

Patricio was of the opinion that he also had seen 
some person go up toward the shaft — as distinct 
from the old workings — although he could not be 
very sure about it. This tended to confirm Pollok’s 
belief, although I myself incline to the idea that it 
was a goat. 

“Anyhow,” he said to the world at large, “ we 
have them now ; an’ I don’t mind bettin’ it’s Pablo 
Chacon an’ Maximino Betancourt for two. See 
here, Patricio, do you and the Sefior Fortescue abide 
by the shaft-head, whilst I and the sefior comisario 
watch here. Thus, at the going out, we shall hook 
them.” 

“ What shameless ones are these,” remarked the 
comisario, that bite the hand which feeds them ! 
For this they shall suffer Yucatan — two years 
apiece.” 

It takes a good deal of nerve to climb down into 
the depths of a three-foot wide cave, to await in 
the dark the arrival of a desperate and muscular 
Yaqui Indian. The Yaquis, not without cause 
given, have spread the fear of them throughout the 
Republic. Pollok, however, is no coward. 

He left the comisario outside, to guard against 
possible surprises from the rear, and himself de- 
scended alone as far as the fall. Here he crouched, 
without a light, until the grating of rocks beyond, 
and the faint glow of a candle, advertised the 
advance of the enemy. 


78 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


The man, or men, wormed through the rabbit - 
hole connection with deep gasps and the dragging 
of heavy bodies over the stones. Then came a 
serpentine sound up the further slope, and Pollok 
noted with pain that not in a hole alone, but in a 
sack, was his ore coming out. Suddenly he bit 
back an oath ; the candle had been extinguished 
and blank darkness fell curtain wise. 

** That means a scrap in the dark,'’ thought 
William, “an’ more’n an off chance o’ gettin’ cut. 

However, here goes ’’ 

The sack-dragger was almost on him now ; in- 
deed, out of the thick gloom a sandalled foot had 
already flicked Pollok lightly across the nose — 
seeking for foothold — and a tremulous voice in- 
quired of the Almighty as to “ what (obscurity) 
was this.’’ 

“ Halt ! ’’ roared Pollok. 

He sprang as he shouted — only to be borne back 
by what seemed to his excited fancy to be a section 
of chain-cable wrapped in sacking. This article — 
weight perhaps one hundred pounds — ^had been 
cast violently and clingingly around his neck. 
“ Halt ! ’’ he shouted again, lashing wildly at the 
empty air with the long barrel of his pistol. “ Pablo 
Chacon, I have seen thee ! The comisario and his 
men wait without — all is lost ! ’’ 

It will be noted that even William — ^a truthful 
man (sic) under normal conditions — was not above 
trifling with the truth in extreme difficulty. This 

is one of the sad features of my story ; the other 

Presently it was borne in upon the superintendent 
that he was wasting kinetic energy. The enemy 
had fled back into the depths of the mine, and it 


THE STEALERS 


79 


would of course be silly to attempt pursuit. He 
stopped ruining his good revolver-barrel on the 
insensate boulder, sucked his knuckles, and, after a 
bewildered pause, thoroughly to grasp the inner 
meaning of all this, he began to examine his strange 
new necklace. He found that what had appeared 
to be chain-cable — first appearances are notoriously 
deceitful — was in reality the ore-sack ; a curious 
sack — long and narrow, and quite likely so con- 
structed to pass more easily through the hole of 
wicked Pablo's digging. With a supreme effort he 
got it on his shoulders, and staggered out into the 
open just as the dawn was breaking. 

“ But this ? " said Concepcion O’Rourke, as 
Pollok reappeared gasping on the hillside. '' Sefior 
Pollok, what is this that your honour bears ? But 
Sefior Pollok ” 

William began to explain. Noting, however, that 
the polite Mexican continually kept one hand, 
sometimes both hands, before his quivering face, 
he stopped explaining to examine his catch more 
closely. 

In effect,” said the comisario, when he de- 
scribed the incident to me, it was trousers. Old 
trousers ! Very old trousers ! ” His face became 
preternaturally grave, and his foot tapped testily 
as if he fought down some strong emotion. “ This 
me brought the Sehor Pollok in the madruga — ^the 
dayspring — huh — eheuh — hup — ahem ! ” 

A second time he mastered his overbearing feel- 
ings, and glared at me most savagely. Pollok winced. 

So even down to that they robbed him ? ” I 
remarked. 

As to that;” said Pollok, quien'gsahe what the 


8o 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


glad years may bring forth ? I hope some one 
does steal 'em off the ornery little raskel some day. 
At the moment they was full o' my best selected 
ore — hand picked, you bet — an' the waist was tied 
with one o' them cheap woollen sashes," he con- 
cluded. 

One of the legs was tied with a piece of fuse," 
added the comisario, who knew enough English to 
follow the conversation, and the other secured 
itself with a leather belt — huh — huh — hrrm ! " 

There was only one robber after all, and the 
policy of guarding all bolt-holes emerged trium- 
phant . Up at the shaft they found Patricio retaining 
by the neck a minute and trembling figure in white 
cotton shirt and drawers — ^no, it was not Pablo 
after all. The sun had popped up over the sky-line 
now, and his first beams cast limelight effects on 
the angry faces of the brothers O'Rourke. 

'' This,** said Patricio, causing his victim to dance 
up and down before the comisario, is what has 
quitted us the night's repose ; and I, who as thou 
knowst am a man accustomed to smoke cigarettes, 
not one suck have I taken in all the night, until 
this moment — for this.** From one corner of Patri- 
cio's hereditary mug a cigarette indeed truculently 
dangled. 

He must have been an imposing sight — Patricio. 
He was wearing a heavily braided sugar-loaf hat 
of deep piled felt — almost like fur to look at — 
whereof the value was not less than a hundred and 
fifty pesos, with the gold braid and what not, and the 
weight anything up to fifteen pounds. He wore it 
on the back of his bullet head, and the far-reaching 


THE STEALERS 


8i 


brim made a circular frame for the face of an angry 
war-god. His broad shoulders were covered by 
one of those skimpy shell jackets the old-fashioned 
rancher-folk assume, and his legs by riding chaparejos 
— ^such as the American cowboy wears, but less 
voluminous — clasped upon the outside with single 
rows of silver-plated clasps nearly as big as tea- 
cups. Under these chaps ” were the riding-boots 
I have mentioned, and shall mention again. 

And the others ? inquired the comisario. 

There are no others. Alone came this sin 
verguenza by the ladders upward, and for this have 
I waited all night — sin cigarros — demonio ! ” Pa- 
tricio's warrior-soul had been looking forward to a 
little brisk '' gun-play," and the disappointment 
had combined with the deprivation of tobacco to 
corrode his temper. 

“ But, senores” piped Hernando Ysabel Gavaldon 
hopefully, who knows but in this there is some- 
thing of an equivocation " 

Silence ! " thundered the comisario. ** Thief ! 
Robber ! Ingrate ! For this thou shalt suffer three 
years in Yucatan." 

'' Look ! " he continued to the world at large — a 
few peons had drifted up to squat, blanket -happed, 
on the patio, for the rumour had spread — Look at 
that which this shameless has done. The foreign 
gentlemen bring us prosperity " — ^the comisario may 
have been thinking of his freighting contracts — 
and here we guarantee them all manner of guaran- 
tees in order that we may rejoice in the prosperity 
they bring us. Then comes this thief, this pilferer, 
whom I shall send for four years to Yucatan " — a 
groan went up with the clouds of cigarette-smoke 


G 


82 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


from the squatters — '' by night he comes, crawling 
by the ladders upward, to quit them the ore by 
stealth 

'' Pues hombre” complained a mild, concealed 
voice in the background. “ Put on thy trousers, 
so that we may know thee.’' 

Everybody laughed except the comisario and 
Patricio. 

'' Put on thy trousers,” said the comisario, ” and 
afterwards thou shalt go to Yucatan for seven 
years.” 

The crowd groaned again. 

Eight ! ” suggested the hidden commentator. 
'' S chores, por el amor de Dios, give him eight ! ” 

Pollok shook the ore — ^good looking ore, for 
Hernando was a judge — out of the garment. With 
nervous, fluttering fingers Hernando adjusted his 
sash, tucking in the ends. During all this Patricio 
still kept one great hand on the scruff of his 
neck. 

Enough ! ” cried the comisario. '' What value 
is it to waste words on one so valueless ? Ten 
years in Yucatan ! Vamonos ! ” 

Patricio then suddenly released his hold and 
stepped back three paces. Three paces more he 
ran forward and swung his starboard boot. Still 
holding his hat to his breast — ^in his customary 
manner — Hernando Ysabel Gavaldon shot silently 
into the air, to land on all fours on the edge of the 
dump. With clashing of spurs Patricio followed 
and kicked him ovei. 

The second flight seems to have landed Hernando 
on his feet. He arose and began to run swiftly 
down-hill ; Patricio crashing in his wake. Four 


THE STEALERS 83 

more well-applied punts helped him considerably 
on his way to the bed of the canyon. 

They saw him disappear into the live oak below, 
and presently he shot into view again running up 
the flank of the mountain on the far side of the 
gulch. A rancher, in chaparejos, top-boots and 
spurs, is no match for a mountain-bred peon when 
it comes to travelling up hill. For this reason they 
never saw Hernando more. 







CONCERNING ROUGH-NECKS 


TRAIGHT goods/’ said William Spenser 
Pollok, “ I’d ought to been hung,” and he 

Vv y rubbed the back of his neck, which was scaly 

and coarsened by the suns and the winds of Mexico. 
He did not rub his neck because he felt that he 
had exposed it to grave risks, but he rubbed 
it because it — the rough skin on the back of it — 
saved it. 

Now read that sentence again carefully. 

Toward the close of an October day, in the year 
1910 — Mexico being then in a state of profound 
peace — a man called Herbert Jones, generally known 
as Jones the Englishman, was climbing a ladder. 
This ladder led from the bottom level of the Santa 
Ynez mine — of which property Mr. Jones was 
general manager — up a sort of chimney, technically 
known as a chute, to the working, or stope, above. 
It was a narrow chimney in the rock of the vein, 
one-half being boarded off for the ladderway and 
the other used for the passing of the ore broken 
from the workings to the tramroad in the level 
below. The Englishman had got half-way up the 
ladder when some person above inadvertently 
dropped a cold chisel on his head. 

He fell. You would fall if a twelve-inch bar of 

85 


86 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


seven-eights-inch steel was dropped upon you from 
a height of twenty feet. Fortunately he managed 
to check his descent by falling on Mr. WiUiam 
Pollok — aha ! — the American superintendent. 

“ Fd ha^ bore him/^ said Pollok, if he hadn^t 
come down so sudden. He ain't no airy feather- 
weight neither. Th' goddam' rungs is loose, what 
with the mine water eat in' out the nails, an' I tore 
out two of 'em. We come a grievous bump on 
Antonio — who's standin' below. By Heck ! I'm 
right glad it was me in the middle o' the sandwich, 
an' not underneath. After which," said Pollok, 
" the country goes into revolution." 

Which two events — the laying out of the English- 
man and his consequent withdrawal from his duties, 
coupled with the unexpected rebellion of the native 
population — came near to dislocating the neck of 
Pollok. I feel I have drawn such a veil of mystery 
around this last matter that the reader must surely 
begin to despair. But courage — the trails are 
rapidly converging to the point where all things 
become clear. I must return again, for a moment 
or two, to a private hospital in the city of Corral 
and the Englishman, who remarked a month later 
that no more appalling thing had happened to him 
in a long and varied career. 

" So it is a revolution ? " he said, throwing the 
bed-clothes peevishly off his chest. " If it is, all 
I can say is that these people are quite impossible. 
When I was on the Gold Coast I had fever seven 
times in two years, but nobody wanted to change 
the constitution of the Colony on that account. 
It's not right." He stared at the ceiling j^for a 
few seconds, brooding on the impossibility of 


CONCERNING ROUGH-NECKS 87 

the Mexicans. '*Why did no one tell me?'' he 
said. 

The doctor said I wasn't to say anything about 
it to you whilst you were unconscious," I explained. 
He said it might irritate you." 

But I am irritated," cried the Englishman. 
" Isn't it enough to irritate a plaster saint ? Really, 
these people are quite impossible ! First they stun 
one with a fourteen-pound hammer " — It was a 
gad," I interrupted, but he ignored me — " and then 
they go and plunge the country into civil war 
whilst one is laid up. You don't realize how serious 
this thing is, or you wouldn't laugh like that. The 
Santa Ynez may have to close down ! " 

Jones has always looked upon this as the last 
horror immediately to precede the sounding of 
Gabriel's trumpet. It — the closing down of the 
mine — would have thrown quite seventy men out 
of work. There are fifteen million people altogether 
in Mexico. 

The Santa Ynez will close down," continued 
Mr. Jones, " and Pollok will be out of a job again. 
It is Pollok 's own fault. It " 

I have a letter for you," I interrupted. " A 
letter from Pollok." 

" He has got himself into trouble," said the 
Englishman. " I knew it ! " 

He dropped the letter unopened on the floor, 
gathered up his bed-clothes again, and began to 
hum a stave. I considered he was well enough to 
read the letter, so I picked it up and gave it to 
him a second time. Reluctantly he slit the envelope 
and withdrew the enclosure. He frowned a little 
as he read, the frown gradually deepening. 


88 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


The letter said : 

“ Dear Mr. Jones, 

Hoping you are feelin’ recovered by now ; 
the ore has give out on us in number seven an’ sixth 
heading sampels real bad. It’s hell gettin’ supplies 
with the railroad tore up. I wish they’d quit 
scrappin’. 

Yours affectionate, 

William Spenser Pollok.” 

“ I am now well enough to smoke a cigar,” said 
the Englishman. ” What the devil does Pollok 
mean by writing such a letter — which destroys all 
earthly hope — and then subscribing himself ‘ yours 
affectionate ’ ? I shall probably have a re- 
lapse.” 

I think he would have been justified in relapsing 
seven times over, but there is no telling what 
Herbert Jones will do next at any time. He is the 
sort of man that fusses for a week over a cut finger, 
but I think that if — ^which heaven forbid — the 
revolutionaries took him out and shot him he would 
put in his last moments pointing out the artistic 
merits of the landscape to the firing party. It is 
not surprising, therefore, that I met him a week 
later on board a two-mule waggon with the bandages 
still showing under the sweat band of his hat. I 
asked him if this was the funeral, or if he was merely 
going for a drive. 

“ I am going to the mine,” said the Englishman. 
” I find that these unmentionable swabs have been 
good enough to burn all the railway culverts ; 
Pollok has been in some further trouble I can’t 


CONCERNING ROUGH-NECKS 89 

quite fathom, and Fortescue — you remember Fortes- 
cue — ^has done something appalling. I don't quite 
gather from William's letter what he has done, but 
it looks rather as if he claimed that there was ore 
in the Ampliacion de Shaw — ^his beastly mine, you 
know. It looks as if Pollok had taken it upon him- 
self to take up an option from Fortescue. Well, 
anyhow, the only thing for me is to go out personally. 
What do you think ? " 

“ There was nothing about all this in the letter 
I brought you," I remonstrated. It looked uncom- 
monly like a relapse, to my way of thinking, for the 
Englishman was getting more and more incoherent. 

" It was another letter," said the Englishman. 
" Came in yesterday by runner. Look here, come 
out with me and help me to set things straight. 
I knew Pollok would do something frightful whilst 
I was ill. Damn him ! " 

I promptly accepted the invitation, for I was 
curious to know how the mines had fared since the 
beginning of the revolution. The burning of the 
bridges on the railway had left them stranded in 
the sierras with what supplies they had on hand. 
I was rather surprised to find Pollok was able to 
continue work at all, especially in the light of the 
bad news about the Santa Ynez ore. I was more 
than surprised at the other piece of information 
with regard to this " Ampliacion de Shaw" claim 
of the man Fortescue 's ; I was disbelieving. Any- 
how I boarded the waggon, and drove sixty miles 
across the plains to the south-west of Corral. 

There was no sign in earth or sky of the revolu- 
tion. Once a dirty little boy in a village street 
shouted " Gringitos I " after us, but I was glad to 


90 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


observe that its mother slapped it for its pains. 
With the sun low among far-away pine trees, and a 
sharp chill in the air to remind us how we had 
imperceptibly climbed from five to seven thousand 
feet above sea level, we drew up in the main street 
of San Lorenzo. 

San Lorenzo is a city of a thousand inhabitants. 
It is about two miles long and a hundred yards 
wide, the single street being sometimes on one side 
of the creek and sometimes on the other — and more 
than occasionally in the creek itself, to the detri- 
ment of wheels. In places, large cotton-wood trees 
have grown up in the thoroughfare, causing a certain 
amount of further constriction, for I doubt whether 
a true San Lorenzan would bother to remove a 
tree even if it grew up in the walls of his home. 
He would, more likely, move next door. 

The people, you must understand, live in such 
houses as have not fallen down yet, and they 
gopher around the upper workings of exhausted 
mines for a living. The whole town is full of ruinous 
relics of former glory — of the days when it was a 
bonanza camp, and Mexico was a Province of 
Castile — pillared colonnades with the plaster peeling 
off in yard wide patches, and choked fountains by 
the roadside with the green slime thick on their 
rusted pipes. Thirteen miles of waggon road link 
this place with the railroad, and thirteen miles in 
the opposite direction — into the mountains — ^are 
the mines of the Santa Ynez district. 

" I suppose,'" said the Englishman, as we clashed 
across the river-bed for the last time, '' we had 
better stop at Concepcion O'Rourke's as usual. 
The hotel is too appalling." 


CONCERNING ROUGH-NECKS 


91 


There was a man leaning against a post — a post 
which some person had set up, for reasons unknown, 
in the highway. He was a shabby looking rascal, 
and I imagined at first that he would be some 
American tramp, but when he caught the sound of 
the Englishman's voice and looked up I saw to my 
surprise that it was Fortescue. Fortescue used to 
be rather particular about his dress before he took 
the option on Old Shaw's alleged silver mine — the 
Ampliacion de Shaw before alluded to — and went 
into mining. He looked up and recognized us, but 
he did not remove his hands from his pockets. 

Concepcion O'Rourke's a rebel," he said, with- 
out emotion. " Everybody's joined the revolution 
here." 

" But he's the comisario” objected the English- 
man. ** How can he be a government official, and 
a.t the same time join the revolution, and — ^where is 
Pollok ? " 

" Pollok 's in the hotel," said Fortescue. " Every- 
body's joined the revolution here. Patricio O'Rourke 
was the first, and then the rest followed, and then 
Concepcion said, ' How is it just that we of the 
North shall be taxed out of house and home that 
these disgraced ones may edificate edifices in the 
City of Mexico ' — referrin' to the Government — 
' that which is two hundred leagues away, very far. 
How is this conformable,' says Concepcion, ‘ with 
the Constitution of '57 and the guarantees of the 
immortal Benito Juarez — name by all the world 
held in reverence. I do not suffer it.' Then he 
joined the revolution," concluded Fortescue. 

" But how " began the Englishman. 

" With two rifles and four belts full of cartridges," 


92 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


explained Fortescue. It is, as it were, the 
fashion/' 

First I am stunned,” said the Englishman, 
throwing one leg over the end of the driver's seat 
and allowing his reins to dangle on the weary mules' 
necks, ” and then there is a revolution. Then I am 
informed that you have found ore in your quite 
impossible mine.” He glanced sternly at Fortescue, 
who had withdrawn one hand by now for the pur- 
pose of scratching his nose. ” Then,” proceeded 
the general manager of the Santa Ynez, ” I take 
the trouble of driving all across the prairie to get 
to this infernal place, to find on my arrival that the 
only official one can slightly depend on has become 
a revolutionary and fled, in arms, to the mountains. 
I am naturally puzzled. Damn it all, it's not right ! ” 

He paused suddenly, and pricked his ears. 
Through the wide portal that led to the inner 
courtyard of the tumbledown hotel blew gustily 
the tones of a man's strong voice uplifted in song. 
It was Mr. William Spenser Pollok, singing before 
supper in the dining-room. The song was about a 
rabbit — ^but that is irrelevant.” 

That is Pollok,” exclaimed the Englishman. 
” I will speak to him.” He descended and went 
inside. 

It was clear to the meanest intelligence that there 
was going to be a bit of a row, so I contented myself 
for the moment with lingering outside and pumping 
information out of Fortescue. He was a trifle 
difficult — ^wanted, in fact, to talk about the book 
he declares he is writing, or about to write, on 
Mexico ; but in the end he acknowledged that he 
had indeed struck ore in the Ampliacion, that he 


CONCERNING ROUGH-NECKS 


93 


had allowed Pollok to take up his option on behalf 
of the Santa Ynez, and that both he and Pollok 
had narrowly escaped death at the hands of the 
revolutionaries. This last event appeared to have 
some subtle connection with the finding of the ore 
in what had been the worst mine in the district. 
I was puzzled — events had tumbled across one 
another's heels in such quick succession of late — 
but since I now heard Pollok loudly proclaiming 
that he had saved the fortunes of the Santa Ynez 
Company, and it looked like the truth, I went 
inside. 

We found them in the dining-room, Pollok beating 
the table with his clenched fist, and the Englishman 
reading over the agreement whereby Fortescue 
turned over the working of the Ampliacion to the 
Santa Ynez. 

How did you find this ore ? " remarked the 
Englishman, as we came in. 

“ Ask Fortescue," replied Pollok, in a gentler 
tone than he had been using of late. He's the 
doctor ! " 

I took him for a filibuster myself," said the 
Englishman. ** How did you find the ore ? " 

It was in a battle," said Fortescue. 

He added that he was not to be expected to ride 
the trail from San Lorenzo to the Santa Ynez in a 
frock coat and top hat, and that Pollok was a better 
liar than himself. Eventually we gave him up and 
let the superintendent tell us the tale in his own 
words. 

" It was in a battle," said Pollok, " an' I come 
mighty near gettin' shot, or hanged, or both. I 
guess you think three hundred dollars a month 


94 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


covers that, though ? YouVe another guess cornin' 
next time." He poured a drink for himself. “ It 

was last Toosday " 

" Morning," prompted Fortescue. 

" Toosday mawnin'," continued Pollok, " bein' 
the day I'd promised to go help Fortescue sample 
his goat ranch — meanin' the Ampliacion de Shaw — 
along comes the Federal cavalry ridin' up the gulch 
the way we was figurin' on goin'. ' Let's not go,’ I 
says to Fortescue, soon's I caught sight o' the 
uniforms, ' Antonio tells me the rurales is out ford 
Cerro Prieto,^ an' I know for sure that Patricio 
O'Rourke, the comisario's brother, is between here 
and there with fifty men. Them fellows is out 
gunnin' for Pat,' I says, * an' they figure on cat chin' 
him between themselves an' the rurales. Quien 
sahe* I says, ' but there's goin' to be heaps o' shoot in' 
— ^an’ I've lived in the country long enough to know 
not to mix in Mex. politics." 

" Fortescue answers vulgar," continued Pollok. 
' All right then — diet's,' I tell him, ' but don't go to 
blame me if we strike trouble.' We hit it up for 
the Ampliacion then. When we got there we seen 
the cavalry two miles away on the next hill to the 
north. They was dismounted, an' strung out all 
along the crest o’ the hill. If the rurales was over 
where Antonio said they was, it looked like harsh 

times for Pat. It was this way " 

" I want to know," interrupted the Englishman, 
" how you came to find that ore.” 

” Patricio an' his friends was down in the hollow 
between the hill where the cavalry was an' Cerro 
Prieto," explained Pollok. " O' course it was no 

^ Black Mountain, 


CONCERNING ROUGH-NECKS 


95 


business of ours, but seein' that Fortescue's men 
hadn’t showed up to cut the samples — an’ him bein’ 
on the point o’ writin’ a book about Mexico — we 
thought no harm to climb to the top o’ the hill, 
above the Ampliacion tunnel, to see what’s happenin' 
While we scramblin’ up through the bresh, ‘ wack, 
wack ! ’ goes two rifle shots in the dim distance. 
‘ Th’ Jew is fait,’ says Fortescue. ‘ Rien ne vapour ’ 
— ^that’s French for ' va corriendo — nada mas.* 
* What with the rut ales an’ the cavalry,’ I says, ‘ I 
guess there’s too many damn double zeros on the 
wheel for poor Paddy O’Rourke.’ 

I beat Fortescue to the top.” Pollok raised his 
voice a little, for the Englishman was again opening 
his mouth. ” I take the glasses off Fortescue,” he 
said, ” an’ from where we was lyin’ I seen the 
rurales where I’d expected they most likely was. 
They come streamin’ down the slopes of Cerro 
Prieto, in an’ out among the timber, afoot an’ a 
shootin’. Pat’s men is engagin’ them from below 
by now, for I seen one man roll over an’ not get 
up. We couldn’t see Pat’s gang, but we hear ’em 
a poppin’. ' This is the real thing,’ says Fortescue, 
an’ he goes for his notebook. ' Gimme the bino- 
culars,’ he says. ' They’re a good six miles away, 
an’ it ain’t likely we’ll be disturbed.’ 

” I looked down the way we’d come, an’ it looked 
a heap long distance to the mine patio below. We 
could just see end o’ the dump, an’ the ore car — 
the steepness o’ the hill an’ the thickness o’ the 
bresh hidin’ the actool tunnel mouth. ‘ Them 
fello’s has glasses too,’ I says to Fortescue, * an’ 
foreigners ain’t invited to these swarrys. If you’ve 
done got all the lit’ry material you need, maybe 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


96 

we'd better hike.' ‘ I'm goin' to stay here a week,' 
says Fortescue. 

Just as he's speakin', a mauser bullet happens 
along from nowhere in particular. It takes a slide 
off the boulder he's lyin' on — ‘ phwit — zing — g — g ' 
— an' two more breathes gentle over the nape o' 
my neck. ‘ Note them facts,' I tell him, ‘ for the 
book. A rikkeshaying bullet sings like a hornet, 
wasp or yeller jacket, thro' the preambulent air.' 
But when I looked round to see whether he gets 
them golden words I seen him half-way down the 
hill. I asked where he was a goin' so fast, an' he 
shouts back that he's goin' inside the tunnel for a 
breath o' fresh air. 

Maybe you don't quite get what's happenin'," 
continued Pollok. "I'm goin' to tell how we un- 
covered that ore in a minute ; but the way things 
was now we had Patricio's gang somewhere to the 
north of us, between the rurales an' the cavalry, an' 
the rurales was drivin' the rebels back on the 
cavalry, an' the rebels was drivin' the cavalry back 
on us. I took note, before I came down myself " — 
" Like a hopping landslide," interjected Fortescue — 
" that fresh firin' had broke out to the east, an' I 
guess it was that saved Pat's bacon, for we found 
later it was Concepcion O'Rourke — him that was 
comisario here — operatin' on the flank o' the 
molestadores o' Brother Patricio. 

" Anyhow here's us now a heatin' it for the cool 
shades o' the Ampliacion de Shaw tunnel, whilst 
the native population an' one or two detachments 
o' Federal troops from Mexico City is operatin' in 
five or six directions acrost the lofty sierra an' 
the deep an' rugged canyons. All the time we're 


CONCERNING ROUGH-NECKS 


97 


approachin' the goal o' our desires the racket’s 
drawin’ closer. I guessed it was up to us to do 
somethin’, so I make a grab for the tools in the 
shack by the tunnel, an’ carry ’em in to Fortescue. 
‘ What’s that for ? ’ asks Fortescue. ' Samplin’,’ I 
tell him. ' What else did we come here for ? ’ We 
went in then an’ began to cut a sample at the far 
end o’ the tunnel. 

Meanwhile, the shootin’ draws closer, we hear 
the cavalry pass down the gulch below at a gallop 
— an’ the rebs a shriekin’ ' whaich — hai — ^hai ! 
Que viva Madero ! ’ above — an’ we guess rightly 
that the cavalry is whipped. ' We can’t go home 
yet,’ I says to Fortescue, ' not until these here 
gazebos is out o’ the way, but seein’ the shootin’ is 
less frequent I’m a go in’ to take a look outside.’ 
I left him in the headin’ an’ stuck my nose out, 
cautious as a gopher cornin’ out o’ its hole, an’ I 
see some o’ the rebels sittin’ around above us where 
we’d been watchin’ the battle begin about an hour 
previous. Suddenly they begin to shoot again, an’ 
two men come a runnin’. 

'' It wasn’t me they was a poppin’ at — it appears 
it’s two dismounted cavalrymen what’d been hidin’ 
in the bresh up to now. Number one passes down- 
hill to our right, get’s cut just as he’s past the lower 
prospect pit an’ dies there, but number two avoids 
the bullets by breakin’ through the bushes an’ 
rollin’ over the edge of the cut above the tunnel. I 
thought he’d broke his fool neck, but he just shook 
hisself an’ ducked inside. Me an’ Fortescue didn’t 
feel we needed no publicity agent at the moment, 
so I took him by the neck an’ abjured him to keep 
his mouth shut.” 

H 


98 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


'' You didn't suppose," snarled Fortescue, " that 
he'd be in the mood to start singing the National 
Anthem with the brush lull of Maderistas ? Or did 
you ? " 

'' Well — I wasn't takin' no chances," said Pollok. 

'' His name's Tiburcio Soto — this fellow we get," 
continued William. '' He's a corporal, an' a right 
agitated caho at that. You see, the rebels is shoot in' 
any Federal soldiers they catch to even up for them 
executions in Chihuahua ; an' his companeros de 
armas havin' emulated the swallers, an' flew south 
in extreme haste, Tiburcio feels lonesome. He come 
from th' State o' Michoacan hisself, he told us, 
havin' got drafted into the army accidental — he 
cuts a friend at a fiesta, he says, an' the police take 
him for unjustifiable homicide in consekence. ' Now,' 
he says, ' quien sabe, what's goin' to happen to me 
next ! Ojald/ he says, ' that I'd died in Michoacan. 
A man dies more d gusto in his own country.' I 
guess he didn't consider so far north as the States 
o' Durango or Chihuahua as bein' Mexico at all." 

" What did you do with him ? " asked the 
Englishman, " and what " 

" Made him take his spurs off," snapped Pollok. 
" The rebels was cornin' down to look at the man 
they'd shot, an' it wouldn't ha' been diplomatic for 
Tiburcio to go ringin' chimes ever' time he moved. 
Tiburcio goes one better, an' takes his boots off 
too — Say ! Did you know that Mexican cavalry 
don't wear no socks ? " The Englishman did not 
seem to be interested in this striking discovery. 
" He seemed glad to be quit of 'em," continued 
Pollok hurriedly. " We buried them jack boots, 
an' beat it for the heading of the tunnel — where 


CONCERNING ROUGH-NECKS 


99 


the winze is sunk. There was some sticks o' timber 
stacked by this here winze, for Fortescue figgered 
on cat chin' up the roof manana or pasado manana 
— ^the roof bein' heavy. We set down on these here 
sticks to see what would happen next. 

“ They come down an' stand about on the patio 
outside — ^the rebs I mean — an' we hear 'em cussin' 
an' discussin' whether some one's likely hid inside 
the tunnel. Bein' rancher folks, what's usually 
scared o' mines, they wasn't eager to go in. I 
was hopin' it was all over, when what does this 
here Tiburcio do ? This here Tiburcio " — Pollok 
seized the opportunity afforded by the Englishman's 
awakened interest, and poured himself another 
drink — sneezes ! 

“ He turns the colour o' a dead nigger the minute 
he's done it," he continued, but it's too late for 
repentance. ' Grab a holt o' them planks,' I says 
to Fortescue, ' an' simultaneous I take Tiburcio 
by the neck again, an' drop him down the winze. 
It's not more'n fifteen feet down. ' Lie still,' I 
tell him, for he begins to groan. ' Lie still or I'll 
do a heap worse than that. Hold your nose,' I tell 
him, * an' sneeze out o' your eyeballs if you must 
sneeze.' Then we clap down planks over the collar 
of the winze until it's hid, an' we lay the sampling 
sheet on top. I thro wed a few handfuls o' gravel 
on the canvas to make a start with, and we begin to 
cut down a sample from the roof above to help 
along the good work. Meanwhile some one's cornin' 
in." 

“ You began to cut a sample ? " said the English- 
man. The patio outside was swarming with revolu- 
tionaries — according to what you have just said — 


100 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


and you begin to hammer on the roof of the tunnel 
to let them know you were there ? All I can say 
is that it was very like you." 

" You don't get me," complained Pollok. " Ain’t 
I sayin’ that this here Tiburcio has snoze, an’ some 
one’s cornin’ in to find out about it. We hid this 
here Tiburcio in this here winze, poso or shaft in 
the headin’ o’ the Ampliacion tunnel, an’ we put 
the winze canvas over that poso or shaft, an’ we 
go to work in the ordinary way — with a ' double 
jack,’i an’ gad — makin’ out we’re but samplin’ the 
drift. We ain’t heard o’ no battle, an’ we ain’t 
volunteerin’ no opinion as to whether the ground’s 
solid under the canvas or otherwise. While we’re 
engrossed in our divertin’ labours, who should come 
slidin’ along the wall with a match in one hand an’ 
a gun in the other but Patricio O’Rourke hisself. 
' Spell oh ! ’ says I to Fortescue, an’ he drops the 
hammer. 

“ Pat’s in his well known chaparejos with the silver 
buckles — he’s covered with cartridges — an’ he looks 
as if he’s stepped this minute out o’ one o’ them 
motion pictur’ films in an El Paso the-ater. ' Why 
hell! ’ I says, surprised like. ' So it’s you, is it ? ’ 
he says, lookin’ relieved an’ droppin’ the gun — 
which he’s had it aligned thus far on Fortescue ’s vest 
buttons, an’ Fortescue ’s gettin’ restive. ' Carrajo I ’ 
he says. ‘ How you all scared me ! Why for didn’t 
you let us know you were here before ? ’ 

" Fortescue chips in to explain that we’re heap 
busy with this samplin’ work, an’ don’t want to 
seem to be takin’ too strong an interest in the 
family affairs that’s^ been in process of adjustment 

' An eight-pound sledge-hammer used in mining. 


CONCERNING ROUGH-NECKS loi 

outside. To show how busy he is he gets the hammer 
an' knocks down about two hundredweight more o' 
loose rock. 

“ Pat remarks that the rocks ring hollow on the 
planks below, an' asks if there ain't a winze under- 
neath. ' O' course there is,' I tell him, ' but we're 
done with that now. Take note,' I tell him, ‘ how 
we're a samplin' the back o' the drift an' the headin'. 
We aim,' I says, ‘ to cut a big sample.' ‘ So I 
observe,' says Don Patricio. * By the look o' 
things I leaps to the conclusion that you all have 
adopted a noo system o' minin\ There's about a 
half ton o' rock on the sheet already,' he says. 
* What's the winze like ? ' ' Poor,' says Fortescue. 

If it wasn't the roof was so dangerous loose here — 
there's about half a ton fell already over an' above 
what we wanted — I'd shift the planks an' let you 
see for yourself,' he says. 

“ He then takes two more whangs with the hammer, 
an' brings down a regular landslide. I was in 
dread it'd stave in the planks an' kill Tiburcio in 
any case. ' It's dangerous work you two's playin' 
at,' says Pat — half to hisself — an' he grins. He 
grins," continued Pollok moodily," an' then he sits 
down by the pile o' rock an' takes a bit to look at. 
He spits on it to clear the dust, an' holds it to the 
candle. He's still lookin' at it, an' turnin' it over — 
an' me wonderin' how much he's guessed — when 
this here Tiburcio " 

“ Good Lord ! " cried the Englishman, aghast. 

He sure did," continued Pollok in a grave and! 
brooding tone. After all I'd said to him too 1 
He don't even appear to have the sense to do it 
into his hat. He sneezes that violent that Fortescue 


102 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


says he seen the planks lift an' the canvas belly 
up in the middle. Pat stops talkin', an' sits with 
the bit o' rock in his hand an' his jaw a saggin'. 
* What's that ? ' says he. 

“ Well, gentlemen, I guess we might ha' laid on 
that it was the wind sighin' in the trees ; but I 
ain't no novelist. I seen the game was up, an' I 
guessed it was no good bluffin' further, so I just 
nacherally remark that it sounded uncommon like 
a sneeze. Pat looks at me an' Fortescue, an' me 
an' Fortescue look at Pat. It's his turn to say 
somethin'. By Heck ! It felt like an hour before 
he begins his spiel, an' I was sweatin' like a horse 
all the time. 

“ It ain't no comfort to me to think how there'll 
be a Consular inquiry, an' statements in Congress 
after they've done shot or hung me for harbouring 
the enemy. I'm a plain workin' man, an' I'd just 
as lief forgo the publicity in favour o' bein' let live 
a year or two more. At last Pat speaks. ' Maybe,' 
he says, ‘ it was the loose rock in the roof creepin'. 
I told you the work you're a doin' is dangerous. 
Better quit,' says he. ‘ You catch my meanin' ? ' 
he says. Then he gets up an' goes out again — still 
hoi din' the piece of rock. 

Fortescue catches his breath," continued Pollok. 
" like he's goin' to cry ; but I shook my head to 
him to keep quiet. I knew it wasn't all over yet 
by a long shot. We wait about a minute — ^which 
felt like ten — an' then we hear Pat cornin' in again. 

“ He drags his spurs along the drift an' stops as 
soon as he's round the last bend, in the light o' the 
candles. He's still by hisself — which surprised me. 

I jest come back,' he says, ‘ to tell you fellows that 


CONCERNING ROUGH-NECKS 103 

this is ore youVe been knockin' down. I been 
examining it outside in the daylight/ he says, ‘ an' 
it looks awful good to me. You're sure lucky,' he 
says. * More so that it ain't Jorge Chao, or Con- 
treras, or Betancourt that's commandin' this levy. 
Foy su-puestOy he says, ' and one o' them three 
would ha' had you tried by court martial an' shot 
— jest lor bein' here — an' denounced the mine for 
themselves. Adios,* he says, * an' ten cuidado. 
Take care,' he says ; hands me the bit o' rock, an' 
stamps off. I didn't dare to believe they wasn't 
goin' to come in an' uncover the winze an' Tiburcio 
until I heard 'em mount an' ride off again. They 
went north to help Concepcion against the ruralesJ* 

“ That was quite decent of him," I ventured to 
remark. " Do you suppose he guessed " 

''Oh, pshaw ! Ain't you a sure 'nough Johnny 
Bull, now ? If I'm to put in the rest o' the night 
tryin' to explain these here incidents to three 
Britishers at once — so's they'll understand — why, 
why I guess I'd ought to get a raise o' salary. 
Do you suppose Patricio's a damn fool — oh, pshaw ! 
As it is. I've give Patricio a present o' a horse that 
cost three hundred pesos." 

" Why did you do that ? " asked the Englishman, 
who still seemed to think Don Patricio a fool. He 
is a hard man to convince. 

" Count o' somethin' he told me last March — 
seventeenth o' March to be exact. He told me he 
was in the habit o' get tin' a skinful that day ; that 
his popper had incultur'd the habit. 

" He was drunk at the moment, an' I frankly 
admit how I wasn't far off it myself. He tells me 


104 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


how old Maximino O’Rourke, before he died, 
instructs him not to let this day pass. ‘ Also,’ says 
he, * Americanos is pison, an’ other foreigners ain’t 
any better ; but,’ says Maximino, ' don’t forget 
that though the uninitiated might take you for a 
cross between an orang-utan an’ a Yaqui Indian ” 
— I suspect Mr. Pollok of translating in the freest 
way — ' that you, me son, are an Irishman. Take 
pride in it,’ he says, " an’ never hesitate to trust 
your fellow countrymen when you meet ’em. 
They’re a fine lot o’ men,’ he says, * an’ any one 
of ’em can whip ten Dutchmen or five Enghsh, 
other things bein’ equal. They’re a trustworthy 
lot,’ he says. ' How am I to know when I meet 
one ? ’ asks Pat. 

I guess old Maximino was about at his last 
gasp. He motions Patricio to bend closer so’s he 
can hear what he’s goin’ to say. * By their noble 
an’ distinguished manner,’ he says, 'an’ if that 
ain’t enough for you — ^by the skin on the back o’ 
their necks. It’s rough,’ says he, ' an’ scaly.’ Then 
he died.” 

” I see what you mean,” remarked the English- 
man. ” Lucky thing for you that Maximino hap- 
pened to mention about the skin — what ? ” 

Pollok looked hurt. 


BROTHER WILKINSON 


A FRENCHMAN o’ th’ name o’ Cohenstein 
has bought the Santa Ynez,” said William 
Pollok. 

“ And yourself and Jones ? ” I inquired. 

“ Oh, us ? We’re canned. His Nibs ” — he re- 
ferred to Mr. Herbert Jones, his consulting engineer 
— '' has gone to Nigery, or some such place, an’ I’m 
holdin’ down this here seat. Gimme a match.” 

” This here seat ” was one of many provided by 
the municipality of Corral — a mining town in 
Northern Mexico' — for the benefit of those who 
wandered in the plaza with or without visible means 
of support. Pollok curtly refused to deal with the 
seventh bootblack that had offered his services in 
the last five minutes, and began to explain how he 
had disposed of his finances. 

” I ain’t spent it all,” he said. ” I salted down 
two thousand pesos, durin’ the time I had that job, 
in first mortgages. Mines? No, sir! Them 
mortgages is took in the name o’ my little girl, an’ 
you bet Popper’s worked too long around mines to 
touch anythin’ so damn chancy^ — what’d be th’ 
interest on that lot in U.S. currency ? ” 

My brain grappled with the problem for a 
moment. 

” Two thousand pesos — roughly, two hundred 
105 


io6 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


pounds,’* I said. Six per cent ? Well, that’d 
work out at twelve pounds, or sixty dollars, gold, 
per annum.” 

” Then that’ll make four hundred an’ sixty she’s 
drawin’ now,” said William triumphantly, ” ’sides 
what she earns. Ain’t so bad — what ? ” 

“ And the balance ? ” I asked — not without mis- 
givings. He had been earning, on the average, 
three hundred to three-fifty pesos a month for the 
last two years, not to count a whacking bonus on a 
deal. ” You have been out of employment for three 

— no, four — days. Surely, William ? ” 

” Oh, I spent that” he replied airily. ” Yesterday 
was my birthday. You’d not think I was fifty to 
look at me, would you ? ” 

” For sham.e ! ” I cried. ” William — for shame ! ” 
” I spends most of it in a poker game,” quoth the 
burly reprobate, “an’ I had to give a wad o’ bills to 
this noo-fangled ex-revolutionary police — what’s 
more rapacious than the old-time article — on 
account o’ a fellow sassin’ me in Belinda’s an’ me 
beatin’ him a spell for it. But it’s no use your askin’ 
me to work at any o’ these mines nearby — if that’s 
what you’re figurin’ on now^ — for I won’t do it. 
Me for the mountains. 

“ Times is damn hard, though,” he added thought- 
fully ; for I forbore to interrupt, although I doubted 
myself whether a job near town would be other than 
harmful to my playful friend. “What with the 
revolution,” he continued, “ an’ the counter- 
revolution, an’ the light trimmin’s thrown in by the 
greasy bandidos, it’s been roughish of late at the 

Santa Ynez ; an’ they say Sinaloa’s hell 

“ Tell you what I’m goin’ to do.” 


BROTHER WILKINSON 


107 

A sparkle of resolution lit in his somewhat weary 
eyes. 

I'm a goin' back to th' hotel to sleep some — 
an' — an' then I'm goin' prospectin'." 

This daring resolve he carried into effect, in spite 
of all that I could do to dissuade him. The manner 
of his prompt ion from Corral was that he first 
persuaded a confiding person to buy him a burro. 
A burro is a donkey. He loaded this beast of burden 
with supplies that were paid for partly by himself 
and mainly by the confiding person ; and I made 
him a present of a good pair of boots. 

Of course the man who bought the burro — it 
didn't cost much — had the idea that William would 
presently discover a lost mine, or something of 
that nature, and that in four or five months' time 
he would be drawing from ten to a hundred thou- 
sand per cent on his original outlay of thirty or 
forty pesos. William, on his part, probably believed 
with absolute sincerity that he would discover a 
mine, and was quite willing to give his written 
agreement to remit half the profits of such discovery 
to his " grub staker." But where he ultimately 
turned up was in Guay mas, Sonora, a seaport on 
the Gulf of California, and I regret to say he was 
poorer than ever in material wealth. 

Spiritually he was richer. He had acquired a 
friend of a new type. I imagine the circumstances 
under which he acquired this new friend were as 
follows. 

There is a strange break in the western part of 
the Sierra Madre plateau. The traveller may have 
been journeying for weeks on end among pine tree 
and high moimtain valleys ; and may well have 


io8 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


forgotten entirely that he is within a few degrees 
of the Tropics of Cancer, especially if it be in the 
winter season and he has had to break ice to get 
his breakfast coffee water from the creek, and to 
wash his livid face. After days of this sort of thing, 
however, one comes out unexpectedly on something 
not unlike the edge of a mantelpiece on a large 
scale. The country drops — anything from three to 
five thousand feet — and one can look down from 
the heart of a snowstorm to orange groves and 
sugar-cane patches in the deep barrancas below. 

After this first breakaway the country goes clean 
crazy. It is all up, down, and sideways — pine along 
the knife-edge ridges and palm in the tropical 
gorge — until the last chain of hills is passed and 
one rides forth at leisure on the broad plains of 
Sinaloa and southern Sonora. You must imagine 
that William Pollok and the burro have passed 
Guadalupe y Calvo and slid and scrambled down 
the herring-bone trail that takes the cuesta — the 
mantelpiece — north of Muinora. It was in the 
rainy season, and the Bazonopa River below was 
in flood. At the first ford that WilHam encountered 
he beheld a spindle-shanked mule in the middle of 
the roaring water. It was ridden by a dried-up 
little fellow in khaki overalls, and the rider didn't 
seem to know quite what to do. 

Pollok paused ; looked at the mule critically, 
and sent forth a brain wave to test its psychology. 
** Hold his head up, an' hit the son of a gun ! " he 
shouted finally. The rider then hit the mule, and 
the mule immediately stepped backward into a 
concealed hole. It rolled over in a cloud of spray, 
and continued rolling until the muddy water had 


BROTHER WILKINSON 


109 


borne it out of sight. The rider came up about 
five yards down stream, and began to swim ; and 
Pollok abandoned the burro to race parallel along 
the bank. 

In an eddy, caused by the roots of a big cotton- 
wood tree, he was able to slip down waist deep in 
the stream and grasp the hand of the stranger. It 
was a near thing, but it was accomplished without 
unnecessary fuss, and Pollok drew the fruits of his 
own evil advice gasping from the flood. 

Saved ! Saved ! '' murmured the salvage ex- 
citedly, when he had found his breath again. '' My 
friend, how can I thank you sufficiently ? You 
who have, so to speak, brought me forth out of the 
deep with a strong arm."' 

'' A missionary,'' said Pollok, '' by Heck ! " 

I am a missionary," affirmed the stranger. 

He was a missionary, and his name was Wilkin- 
son. What particular sect he elected to represent, 
or what his line of endeavour might be, are matters 
as vague to me as Pollok 's own conduct in adopting 
him. I have cross-questioned the latter on the 
subject, and his replies are not satisfactory. One 
would almost imagine he had forgotten most of 
what had occurred on that transmontane journey. 
If the truth be known, Pollok would adopt an5rthing 
on two legs as his " pardner " without question or 
suspicion, provided they did not actually attempt 
his life at the first meeting. I think he just took 
Brother Wilkinson for that the gods sent Brother 
Wilkinson across his path. Yet cast your eye on 
this one incident that I have culled from a very 
sketchy narrative — and draw your own conclusions. 

They were trudging along an airy trail — eight 


no 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


thousand feet above sea-level on one of the before- 
mentioned ridges — when they were accosted by a 
wandering Englishman on horseback. The Sierras 
are full of British. This one rode out from among 
the pines, and very naturally paused to pass the 
time o' day. 

'' Where are you going ? " he inquired, after the 
usual salutations. 

'' To sow good seed in the vineyard," said Brother 
Wilkinson sombrely. Allow me to present you 
with a tract." 

" I asked," continued the Englishman, “ because 
there's a rancher fellow at my place — about ten 
miles along the trail — and he's making a great fuss. 
I didn't exactly leave home on account of his 
language, but I'm glad, all the same, to be out 
here where the air’s fresh. It seems some Gringo 
lifted a mule off his place two weeks ago " 

Brother Wilkinson again fluttered the tract, but 
Pollok caught his wrist. 

And he's looking for that man," continued the 
Englishman. '' I don't say either of you two 
fellows stole the mule, of course," he continued 
politely, '' but it just occurred to me to warn you 
that a mule had been stolen ; for if this rancher 
fellow is still drunk — as he was when I left — ^he might 
be inclined to be rude to strange foreigners. Also, 
the country's so unsettled that I doubt you'd get 
much redress if he murdered you on the impulse 
of the moment. However, I see you are men of 
peace " — he glanced cursorily at the tract, the 
tract which depicted, on the cover, a scene in a bar 
which made William's mouth water — so I'll say 
no more. I suppose, under the circumstances, I 


BROTHER WILKINSON 


III 


can hardly offer you two fellows a drink, so I’ll say 
good afternoon — have to make San Manuel de la 
Cumbre by sundown.” Before the outraged Pollok 
could get his breath, he was off and out of earshot. 

See here ! ” exclaimed William, after a long 
pause during which he had ineffectively endeavoured 
to stare Brother Wilkinson out of countenance. 

See here — who the hell ” 

“ Stole the mule ? ” fluttered Brother Wilkinson 

nervously. “ Oh indeed it was not I. I got ” 

“ Oh, pshaw ! ” roared Pollok. ” Looky here. 
Brother Wilkinson, I ain’t goin’ to argue with you ; 
but any more o’ this here missionisin’ talk while a 
gennelman’s in th’ act o’ offerin’ me a drink, and 
you go on alone — savvy ? ” 

'' Oh, I shouldn’t like that ! ” cried Brother 
Wilkinson. '' Oh, indeed — I had no idea — I — where 
are you going ? ” 

” Goin’ to that fellow’s mine — or whatever it is 
he’s workin’. Come on ! If you think I’m a goin’ 
to bother with a little, sawn-off mass o’ misery 
like you — an’ me dog weary — you’ve another guess 
cornin’. Come on, I say ! ” 

He walked a few paces up the trail and began to 
express his private opinion on the supercilious burro, 
with a soapweed stick he carried for the purpose. 
Brother Wilkinson sighed, and fell in at the rear of 
the procession. Presently he broke into song again. 

There is another rancher,” he began. “ That 
is to say, has it occurred to you that the route we 
are now following leads by Bacubirito to Culiacan ? ” 
'' Heh ? ” grunted Pollok, and stopped again. 

” Culiacan,” repeated Brother Wilkinson less 
nervously, ” where Banderas is committing such 


II2 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


dreadful acts of violence. I had hoped you would 
prefer to keep north. There is also the question of 
this ranchero our friend mentioned — but I do not 
count the personal risk that might arise from any 
misapprehension on his part — er — I believe that 
there is another ranch not four miles north, and they 
stock a good brand of sotol and are very hospitably 
inclined.'' 

Pollok began to push the burro's stubborn head 
round to the hopeful north. 

There is also a pump which is continually going 
on the er — ^blink," concluded Brother Wilkinson. 
'' You being skilled as a machinist " 

“ Geedap ! Burro ! " exclaimed Mr. Pollok. The 
procession reversed itself, and trudged heavily 
north as the sunset brightened the dark crags of 
distant Muinora. 

I imagine that — after mending the pump — William 
and the missionary decided to keep on to the north. 
They held the mountains as far as the Fuerte, where 
they struck the railroad. The country was full of 
brigandage at this time, but since they had nothing 
really worth stealing they were unmolested. By 
various routes they then came down at last to the 
flat, bush-grown plains of the west coast ; and I 
suppose they sold the burro and beat their way on 
the railroad to Guaymas. About four months from 
the time of Pollok's first leaving Corral they sat 
upon the pier at the south end of Guaymas inner 
harbour — El Pozo — and watched the big brown 
pelicans diving for fish. ^ i ^ 

“ The hell of it is," said William to Wilkinson — 
for he was always very frank — that whereas in 
Corral I wasn’t more'n straight broke, now I'm in 


BROTHER WILKINSON 


til’ hole for the price o’ that there burro 

an’ the tools. Oh, pshaw ! ” 

“ I wish I could help you,” said Brother Wilkin- 
son. 

He whistled a bar or two of a hymn, and as he 
whistled a white-painted motor-launch glided out 
across the blue waters of the harbour. Both men 
followed her with wistful eyes, Pollok because she 
savoured of activity in some guise, and Wilkinson 
because he was returning to Guaymas after a tem- 
porary absence — of which more anon — and he 
wished the two dollars and thirteen cents they 
owned between them could be stretched to cover 
the hire of her for a day or two. As she disappeared 
round the point, he made his great resolution. 

” I am an honest man,” he began. 

” So’m I,” grunted Pollok. 

” But sometimes I almost wish it were otherwise,” 
proceeded Brother Wilkinson. ” Would you believe 
that the price of one of those vessels — ^just for a 
day or two — stood between us and opportunity ? ” 

Pollok stared, for the intense heat that is reflected 
into Guaymas by its close circumscription of bare 
red hills produces curious effects — ^yet none quite 
so curious as this. Brother Wilkinson flushed 
slightly, and took up his tale. 

” Some years ago,” he said, ” I had the fortune, 
that is to say, I nursed a dying prospector. I — er — 
shudder now to think of the dreadful words that 
man used on his deathbed, and the utter lack of — 
ahem — Christian resignation that characterized his 

last utterances ; but before he shuff ^that is to 

say before this man died, he gave me, in gratitude, 
you understand, a — a chart or plan. This chart, or 


I 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


114 

plan, was drawn for the purpose of locating a cave 
on the Lower California coast, opposite us, and I — 
er — I have reason to believe that there is treasure 
in the cave ! ” 

There was a silence fell upon the quay at these 
words. A pelican dipped lightly, and Pollok spat 
in the water. 

“ Who put it there ? '' snapped Pollok. 

'' Pirates, I suppose,'' said Brother Wilkinson 
glibly. I suppose you will now ask me how the 
prospector came to leave this treasure alone ? " 

I wm," said Pollok. 

“ He left it," continued Brother Wilkinson luridly, 
" because the bars of bullion were too heavy to 
carry away ; and before he could return he was 
called to his account. I have the plan, at least, 
I had the plan, but have destroyed it for security, 
after memorizing the — ^the — er — details. I would 
not, of course, tell you all this " — ^he coughed apolo- 
getically — but that I feel I owe you my life. The 
— the accident in the Bazonopa, you know. It is a 
pity we cannot afford to hire a launch." 

" This here treasure — ^hum " said Pollok, 

after another pause, in which it became apparent 
that Brother Wilkinson intended to drop the 
subject. 

" Of course I have only the man's word," explained 
Brother Wilkinson, " though, of course, he was 
dying, and had cause for gratitude. The site is 
nowhere near Magdalena Bay, 1 incidentally, 
which would incline me to believe it is hidden 
somewhere north of here on the opposite coast — if 
it really exists — ^south-west of Tiburon Island, and 

^ A traditional haunt of pirates and buccaneers in former days. 


BROTHER WILKINSON 


115 

north of the steamer routes. A very secluded spot. 
If you could see your way '' 

He paused again, and let the unspoken thought 
sink in. Only the pelicans saw that he made a 
strange, sarcastic grimace at Pollok behind his 
back. 

I am not here to apologize for William's mis- 
deeds, for that would be the labour of a lifetime. 
The only extenuating circumstances I can bring 
forth on this occasion are that he was out of work, 
in debt, and game to attempt any desperate act. 
In his defence I may say also that his part of the 
transaction might be glozed over as mere '' bor- 
rowing." 

Pollok " borrowed " a gasoline launch from along- 
side the wharf, at 1.30 a.m., and with a home-made 
paddle he paddled it far enough out to sea to avoid 
waking the watchman by the dint of the engine^ 
An hour earlier Brother Wilkinson had set out on a 
long tramp past the end of the street car tracks 
into the dry and dusty country. He sweated freely 
as he jogged along in the tropical night, for he 
carried an enormous pack of supplies in the bight 
of a tump line such as is used by native cargadores. 
The bulk of his load was gasoline in cans. 

Just beyond the range of hills which lie between 
the inner harbour and the sea. Brother Wilkinson 
turned off to his left on a cart track. He crossed a 
dry and thorny waste, then skirted a swamp, and 
climbing over a ridge of sand found himself upon 
a short stretch of deserted beach. Gratefully he 
tipped his burden on the sand, and removing the 
leather pad of the tump line from his forehead sat 
down to wait. He had hardly drawn his third deep 


ii6 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


breath before he heard the thudding of the boat's 
engine. 

'' Did you get it ? " asked Pollok, as he ran her 
nose up on the beach. 

'' I did — five cans and some beans and bacon. 
I left the water to you ; but I've got coffee and a 
bottle of the best." This last was strange talk from 
a missionary. " I think I’ve done well." 

" How d'ye manage it ? " inquired the wondering 
Pollok. 

" Oh, I’m not altogether unknown here," replied 
Brother Wilkinson evasively. 

William asked no more questions thereafter, and 
the hot dawn came up out of Mexico and found 
them alone upon a glassy and deserted sea. West 
of them the barren mountains of Baja California 
lay dim along the horizon. This land — Lower 
California — has an area twice that of Scotland, and 
just manages to support a population of forty-eight 
thousand souls in its whole arid length. For ad- 
ministrative purposes the territory is divided mid- 
way, and our adventurers were now off the northern 
half — where eight thousand of the gallant forty- 
eight cultivate their lonely thirsts — so there was no 
alarming risk of detection and capture. Neverthe- 
less Pollok felt relieved when Wilkinson suggested 
spending the afternoon hours under shelter of a 
small island which lay near the mountainous shore. 
The sight of a steamer's smoke had reminded him 
that they now held the legal status of pirates ; and 
other matters also were disturbing his peace of 
mind. 

Just as they were rounding the end of the island 
the engine stuck — as engines sometimes will, 


BROTHER WILKINSON 


117 

“ Curse ! said William Pollok,Jand poked at the 
valves with his hard splay fingers. 

I think/' said Brother Wilkinson diffidently, 
“it is this — er — dofunny ' here — so to speak ; 
the locknut on the air intake spindle's worked 
loose. Allow me." 

His hand shot fluttering under the gaping Williams 
nose, and with a curiously deft touch he located 
and remedied the mishap. Pollok narrowed his 
eyes, and for the first time since their first meeting 
he looked hard at Wilkinson. 

“You're a strange brand o' missionary, ain't 
you, pardner ? " he inquired gravely. 

“ I know a little about machinery," said Brother 
Wilkinson — and he forgot to blush this time — why 
shouldn't I ? " 

Come to think of it, what more natural ? Pollok 
felt more at ease again. 

They anchored in a quiet little cove, and drowsed 
away the broiling afternoon bottom fishing with 
the lines that they found in the boat's lockers. 
Conversation was sparse, and often acrimonious, 
for the heat was bitter and Pollok's patience was 
all but frayed through under the sledge-hammer 
blows of the violent sun. He particularly wanted 
to know — ^the thought had just this moment occurred 
to him — why it was that a credit which was good 
to equip the expedition was not also elastic enough 
to cover the honest hire of the boat. 

“ Plain steal I call it," said William mutinously 
— and rather unjustly considering who did the 
stealing. 

“ Your insinuation," said Brother Wilkinson, 
with a touch of haughtiness, “ grieves me. Ah, my 


ii8 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


friend, do you suppose I should leave undone any- 
thing that lay in my power ? The man who found 
the stores for us was a small trader — a Chinaman — 
and it is a rare sign of grace '' 

Cut it out ! said Pollok sulkily. The last 
strands were parting, and Wilkinson's stilted 
phrasing mingled with the light wash of the swell 
on the hot rocks in a dreary dream. 

Perhaps, however, you are right," pursued the 
undaunted labourer in the vineyard. “ Perhaps 
we should turn back and deliver the boat to its 
owner. You have made me feel that there can be 
no blessing upon this trip." 

“ Cut it out ! " said Pollok again. 

I will," replied Brother Wilkinson with equal 
abruptness, and thereafter fell a thinking. About 
half an hour before sunset he suddenly asked if 
Pollok could swim. 

No," said William, but don't let that hinder 
you, if you feel like a bathe." He grinned over his 
shoulder at a brace of big black fins that had been 
jigging round the boat since their arrival in the cove. 
“ I guess it's about time to feed the birds anyhow," 
he said. 

Brother Wilkinson suddenly laughed a most un- 
missionary-like laugh. 

Pardner," he said gravely, in a strange new 
voice, '' I hope you don't think I was aimin' to 
encourage you to any such exploit ? " 

“ No tellin'," retorted William drearily. “ I was 

dreamin' you weren't no missionary after 

all. Say — now cards is on the table — how much o' 
this here pirate treasure spiel is straight goods ? 
I'd like to know^ for I'm hopin' for the sake o' the 


BROTHER WILKINSON 


119 

man this boat belongs to that you ain’t over ferti- 
lized it. I ain’t stole before, an’ the habit don’t 
appeal to me none.” 

'' Guess you’ll know to-night,” said Wilkinson 
curtly. ” Say — lend’s your gun a spell. I want to 
take a crack at these here tihurones.'* 

Lend nothin’ ! ” growled Pollok. ” An’ thank 
you for warnin’ me. You might ha’ known by now 
I ain’t the man to lend my gun to a fellow like you 
what says he’s one thing when he’s really somethin’ 
quite different — ’specially in a place like this.” 

” Straight goods ! ” said Wilkinson, with some 
show of candour. He began to haul up the grapnel, 
and in so doing brought the boat broadside on against 
the rocks. ” Do you take a pop yourself, then,” he 
added. ” I sure hate them devils.” 

Pollok, nothing loath, drew his weapon and 
punched a clean hole in one of the shark’s fins at 
twenty yards, without hanging on his aim. Brother 
Wilkinson congratulated him ; and perhaps aban- 
doned a half-formed plan to get William ashore and 
maroon him. They took up their journey north. 

It was cool enough — with the breeze of the pass- 
age to help them — on the water in the dark. Broad 
to port lay the dim outline of the mountains which 
run sharply down to the shores of that uninhabited, 
waterless coast. The stars above were like sparks 
of incandescent steel in a velvet background, and 
the spirit of adventure was afloat upon the deep. 
Pollok’s fine imagination was briskly at work. 

He could not doubt — however much he doubted 
the actual man — ^that Wilkinson had some definite 
motive in making this trip. Perhaps the pirate 
treasure part of it was all bunkum, but anyhow it 


120 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


must be something of value. Placer gold, perhaps, 
or a lost mine. The lost mine theory pleased William 
greatly. 

He was perplexed a little to account for his own 
presence in the boat. On this point two rival 
theories strove for mastery in his brain. The more 
plausible of the two contended that Wilkinson could 
not have stolen the vessel, and got the supplies on 
board of her, without assistance. The other was 
that Wilkinson was grateful toward the man who had 
saved his life. William peered forward in the dark 
— he was at the tiller — and tried to deduce from the 
silhouette of the little man in the bows whether this 
was a grateful sort of a cuss. Considering that he 
had enjoyed ample opportunity to study his subject 
by daylight for months past, I think this was very 
like Pollok. 

Anyhow he would soon know ; and in any case 
he felt that nothing but the lure of great wealth 
would have brought such a wideawake card as 
Brother Wilkinson out on such a quest. His own 
share would be half of the wealth. That is to say, 
supposin' we find a million dollars," thought Pollok, 
" I get five hundred thousand, an' if it's two mil- 
lion " 

Joyful thought ! His little girl would no longer 
work a typewriter at the behest of purse-proud 
merchants of the effete East ; men who — so like as 
not — might be liable to speak disrespectful to her 
when her Popper was not at hand to beat them. 
She would leave such work, and marry a decent 
American, of his own choice — ^none o' your fortune- 
huntin' lords and dukes. William bristled in antici- 
pation as he prepared his speech to greet the first 


BROTHER WILKINSON 121 

duke who should fling himself at Miss Pollok's 
feet. 

Or supposing she did commit such folly — against 
his better judgment — ^then this is how it would be : 
the guests would be assembled at the ducal board — 
set with golden cutlery and ringed with beaten silver 
cuspidors around the wainscot of the room — and 
on a sort of throne or dais at the head of the table 
would be Miss Pollok with the duke to starboard. 
Suddenly the door would open, and an old man of 
dignified — though rough — personality would stand 
in the hall looking at the glittering assembly with 
wondering eyes. His homespun clothes and weather- 
beaten features would proclaim the pioneer. 

He would make some break in good manners, 
this fine old man — forget to take his hat off, or 
something — and suddenly the gilded guests would 
begin to sneer and make “ cracks '' at him. With 
strong self-restraint he would refrain from bowling 
them out in turn. Then the duchess would see who 
it was, and her startled cry of ‘‘ Father ! '' would 
bring a sudden silence in its train. With sneering 
looks the guests would rise and take their departure 
from the presence of the daughter of such a rough- 
necked man — all except the duke himself, and the 
few real Britishers WiUiam had actually met and 
made friends of, who — Pegasus had grabbed the 
bit and bolted now — ^would be there as guests. 
An affecting scene would follow, in which he would 
declare his intention of withdrawing from the Castle 
for ever, sooner than blight his girPs career. He 
would be urged to reconsider by the faithful few — 
but he would be adamant. This should be the 
greatest and noblest sacrifice of his life 


122 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


'' I guess/' broke in the voice of Wilkinson, this 
is the place." 

" Huh ! " snorted William, and woke up with a 
jerk. 

Under instructions from the pseudo-missionary 
he put his helm over, and they ran the launch along- 
side a flattish rock on the north side of a deeply 
indented inlet. 

" I guess she’ll come to no harm," remarked 
Wilkinson as he sprang ashore with the painter, 
" There ain't enough swell. The treasure’s over on 
the other side, but there ain't no place to moor to 
there. We'll just have to carry it round on our 
backs." 

Carry it round on their backs ! Pollok's heart 
thrilled at the thought. " Two million," he decided. 
He felt he could not now be satisfied with less. 

It was terribly dark, and the bone dry watercourse 
that intervened was full of thorny plants and prickly 
cactus. Once Pollok fell flat, and his " gun " rolled 
out of its scabbard. Wilkinson made a dive — pre- 
sumably to assist him — but before the little man 
could reach him he had recovered his firearm. 
Perhaps it was as well. They crossed the ridge 
beyond, and descended to another arroyo. 

Pollok was on the point of asking how it came to 
be that Brother Wilkinson was so well versed in 
the geography of this place that he had never once 
paused to take his bearings, when a match flared 
further up the gulley. 

" It ought to be under this here rock," said the 
"missionary." 

" Seems to me, bo," remarked Pollok, " you're 
pretty confident for a fellow who's nought but a 


BROTHER WILKINSON 


123 

plan drafted by'n old prawspector to go on. Straight 
goods, now, what's the game ? " 

Seems to me, pardner," retorted Wilkinson, 

that if there was less casual chat an' more get- 
busy cornin' forth from your bone head. I'd be 
saved a lot o' extra trouble. Gimme a hand." 

Together they raised the slab, and the sand ran 
trickling into a small crevice beneath. Wilkinson 
sighed, thrust in both hands, and swung forth what 
appeared to be a brick sewn in sacking. 

“ We ain't been forestalled," he said, as it dropped 
with a dull metalic sound on the rocks. '' We'll 
take one apiece an' carry 'em round to the boat. 
Then we'll come back for the rest." 

Pollok could scarcely believe that this thing was 
real. He was conscious, dimly, of struggling over 
the spur and through the further arroyo in the dark 
with the heavy bar, but only as a sort of nightmare. 
After stowing their burdens in the boat they sat 
for a long time on the landing rock to recover 
breath, and when they returned for the second load 
a pale pink glow had sprung into being in the eastern 
sky. The second trip was even more laborious 
than the first. 

As they came back for the third and last, objects 
were becoming visible. The dawn comes up very 
rapidly in the tropics. 

A bird sprang up, and flapped noisily out over 
fhe gulf. The noise startled Wilkinson so much 
that he slipped and fell, and lay groaning for a 
long time. He was not hurt so much as he thought, 
but by the time he felt equal to continuing the work 
the sun was almost peeping and it was broad day- 
light. Pollok caught hold of the last bar — Brother 


124 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


Wilkinson being a few yards down the creek — and 
as he swung it the covering ripped. It ripped so 
badly that William removed it altogether, and the 
shimmering brick lay exposed to the beams of the 
rising sun. Before burying it, the pirates had 
apparently punched an inscription on the face of 
this bar. '' M. S. M.” they had inscribed it, '' No. 
1563, 4 — 4 — 10."' How strange it was that on 
reading these hieroglyphics William suddenly went 
deep beetroot, and called sharply to Wilkinson, on 
the rocks above, to halt. 

What’s your trouble,” grinned that gentleman. 

Pollok still held the brick in his hands ; and he 
looked alternately at the brick and up at Brother 
Wilkinson. 

‘‘ These here pirates ” began Pollok ; and 

paused. 

Yeah ? ” said Brother Wilkinson. He made a 
funny wry face, and stooped towards his bootlace. 

These here nee — farious pirates o’ yourn, 
pardner,” continued William gravely. “ Where- 
abouts would you say they was operatin’ now about 
— about ” he consulted the inscription again 

April the fourth, 1910 ” 

Wilkinson had done with his bootlace now. 

” Around the zinc room o’ th’ Miguel Sanchez 
Mine,” he remarked with perfect sang-froid, and 
simultaneously drew a knife about a foot long from 
his boot and cast it at Pollok in a highly skilful 
manner. 

Before the outraged William could grasp that 
an attempt had been made upon his life — ^he had 
stepped aside in the nick of time, but quite auto- 
matically — his assailant was off like a deer. More 


BROTHER WILKINSON 


125 


like an indignant hippopotamus William thundered 
down the arroyo and up over the intervening spur 
to avenge his wrong. He reached the summit in 
time to see Wilkinson take a header off the high 
rock wall at the south end of the cove into the blue 
water below. 

He came up again immediately — ^unlike Pollok 
he could swim very nicely — and he now struck out 
on a trudgeon stroke for the white boat that lay 
moored against the red rocks beyond. It flashed 
on William that the road round to the forestalling 
of Brother Wilkinson was long, thorny, and stony ; 
simultaneously it flashed upon him that the first 
man to reach the boat held the whip hand and four 
bars of bullion to boot ; simultaneously he drew 
his pistol. 

The flat report rolled along that most desolate 
coast, and the water splashed to the right of the 
swimmer's ear. He paid no heed. 

Pollok took his right wrist in his left fist, and let 
all his soul, so to speak, flow along the sights of 
that six-inch tube of blue steel which held his four 
remaining chances for life and liberty. He did not 
want to kill, if possible, and so the second shot 
snicked the swimmer's ear. The swimmer shook 
his head and swam on. 

'' I guess," said Pollok miserably, " I'll just have 
to kill the ornery little cuss dead. Hold up, you 
—Huddup! Or " 

" Oh hell ! " said William all in one word, for 
Brother Wilkinson had vanished. 

Naturally enough I cannot get him to speak of 
this incident very freely ; but as far as I can 
gather it was like, " a fishin' float a bobbin' under." 


126 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


No/' says William, he didn't scream any ; I 
guess he hadn't time. I didn't see what happened 
after, for I was sicker'n a dawg at the tho't o' any 
man go in' out that a-way. He always had a 
sorter repulsion at them tihuron sharks. Funny — 
what ? " 

“ Oh hell ! " said William Pollok on the Lower 
Californian coast ; and that was the epitaph of 
'' Brother Wilkinson." 

And then he realized that he was alone in a deso- 
late place with six bars of silver-gold bullion, and a 
motor launch. He knew the bars were stolen, of 
course ; but one does not expect a rough miner 
fellow to be too punctilious. They were stolen 
some years before ; the company had resigned 
itself to its loss by now ; anyhow findin's was 
keepin's ; anyhow he didn’t know whereabouts the 
bally mine was ; and he had his little girl to con- 
sider. 

It is a pity — a great pity — that just as William 
was considering the last two points, most earnestly, 
a small breeze sprang up. It was a breeze from the 
interior, whisking down the ruddy mountain-side, 
and it lost the world a most dramatic and heroic 
scene in a ducal palace. It carried to the ear of 
the man on the shore a sound like far-away breakers ; 
the harmonious roar of a distant stamp battery. 

William swore very vividly this time ; and the 
dawn looked cold and grey in spite of the bright 
colours of land, sky and sea, and the rapidly rising 
temperature. He had been a mine manager himself, 
and the awakening of established instincts was 
inopportune. Rather reluctantly he collected the 
bars and hid them again. Then he turned inland, 


BROTHER WILKINSON 


127 

in the direction of the sound he had heard — ^to 
report his find. 

He walked slowly and wearily, for he was getting 
on in life, he felt, and now his daughter could never 
marry a duke — against his wishes — and he could 
never be a hero. 

• ••••• 

How did I find out all this ? I got a letter from 
the Englishman, Herbert Jones, who did not go to 
Nigeria after all. He said, in effect : 

“ It is a most extraordinary coincidence. Here 
am I, hardly two months in this beastly place — Em 
assistant manager, you know on the * Miguel 
Sanchez ' — when who should come prancing in but 
old Bill Pollok. He is an extraordinary chap. It 
seems he got tight in Corral — ^as I knew he would — 
and spent all his money. Then he goes prospecting, 
and makes up to a frightful scoundrel called Holy 
Joe that used to work here. Holy Joe left a few 
days after they robbed the zinc room here last year. 
They never fixed it on him — ^but everybody had 
their suspicions, which are now confirmed. The 
actual robbery was carried out by two Mexicans — 
we suppose — who vanished along with the bullion 
and have not been seen or heard from since. 

“ It seems Bill met this appalling person — ^who 
has been devoured by a shark — and he showed him 
(Bill) where the swag was hidden. I can’t get to 
the bottom of the matter — it is too complicated. 
Bill, as you may expect — knowing him — has got 
me into all sorts of trouble. He has prigged a 
motor-boat, it seems, and I have had to square what 
few authorities are left in this revolution-ridden 
land — and the owner. Also there has been a bur- 


128 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


glary in Guaymas and a report from the interior 
that a white man has been stealing mules — ^rotten, 
what ? Bill says he did not commit these last- 
mentioned offences. 

‘'He is working as a shift -boss on the cyanide 
plant now, and the company have stumped up 
pretty handsomely for the recovered bullion. He 
sent the money to his daughter. Why has he grown 
so bitter against the House of Lords ? '' 


MAUD: A STORY FOR THE 
SENTIMENTAL 


X TIS brand of talk/' said William Pollok 

I 1 as he braced his knee against the 

JL -L patient pony's abdomen and took a 
pull on the cinch, '' is sure instructive — Whoa ! ye 

town bred ! I just — Stan' still, will ye ? — 

goin' get doctor," he mumbled with one hand on 
the saddle horn, and his mouth full of tobacco. 

" Typhoid ? " I asked. 

" Yeah." Pollok swung himself aboard with un- 
common agility — considering what a stumpy little 
lump of a fellow it is. " I'll be back to-night," he 
shouted over his shoulder ; and horse and man 
vanished in the live oak which fills the canyon 
below Santa Ynez Mountain. 

Minutes later I saw them cross the bare patch 
half a mile lower down. They were several sizes 
smaller, but every movement was distinct, for this 
is the nature of the Mexican atmosphere — especi- 
ally in the Sierras. The pony was travelling at a 
brisk jarring trot, but William sat easily back in 
his high cant led " Texan " saddle apparently with- 
out suffering the slightest inconvenience thereby. 
He rides well for a mining man — ^in fact, I believe 
Pollok used to be a cowboy once upon a time. 

" There is no financial reason," quoth a high- 
pitched voice within, " why you should not die. 

K 129 


130 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


I feel I have made a mistake. But you must for- 
give and forget me. I am very happy — I am very 
happy — I am very happy. — G — d d — m ! '' 

There was a sound of feeble struggling, and I 
shot indoors to where, in the seclusion of Pollok's 
own bed, a wasted stranger fought Death in con- 
crete forms invisible to me. John Hop, the Chinese 
cook, drifted soft-footed into the chamber with a 
glass of water, and the patient promptly inquired 
if that was Maud. Then he used abominable 
language because Maud was not forthcoming. 
Maud, apparently, knew how to circumvent his 
manifold visionary foes. Why had Maud deserted 
him ? 

John Hop giggled. 

My thinkum him die plitty soon,'' he explained 
as he smoothed down the sheet. 

The yellow-crusted lips moved in a faint attempt 
to articulate the word Swine ! " and the stranger 
appeared to sink back into a torpor. 

I went outside — after reproving the Chinaman — 
and sat down on the porch. It was rather distress- 
ing ; for the man was dying and we could not get 
him the one thing his soul most earnestly desired. 
We knew nothing about him beyond the bare fact 
that he had walked in out of the hills two days 
previously in a very dilapidated condition. Pollok 
had discovered him in the hut of one of the Santa 
Ynez Silver Mines peons — the hospitable occupier 
of which residence was nourishing him on boiled 
beans fried in lard. 

I sat on the porch and smoked. Towering above 
me on my right was the eastern slope of the Santa 
Ynez Mountain. It is covered with the brittle 


MAUD 


131 

manzanillo shrub, with the smooth blood-red bark 
and little dark green leaves. Far up the bushy hill- 
side I could see the graded waggon road, and above 
that again the ore-bins. At intervals a mine car 
appeared on the edge of the bins, and then would 
come the clink of a hammer as the carrero knocked 
the catch loose, the car would tip forward, and there 
would be a crash and rattle of falling rocks and a 
little puff of dust. When the sun had hidden itself 
behind the mountain, and a distant whistle had 
blown, and the car no longer appeared on the top 
of the bins, now blue and indistinct against a clear 
blue background — Pollok and the doctor came 
riding back up the trail. 

How's pardner ? " inquired the blithe super- 
intendent of the Santa Ynez Mine as he dismounted 
and handed the horses over to the mozo. 

I explained that he had been asleep all the 
afternoon. '' I haven't looked at him for the last 
hour," I added, " for he was so quiet that I didn't 
like to disturb him. I just sat out here listening in 
case he moved." 

The doctor nodded approvingly and removed 
his spurs, lest they should jingle. 

Antonio, the foreman, had now taken the roll at 
the shaft head on the other side of the mountain's 
crest, and I could see the white-clad employes of 
the company trooping down the trail. Some of the 
older men walked slowly with their blankets wrapped 
round their shoulders and the lower part of their 
faces — for there was just a suggestion of chill in 
the air, and the native has a holy horror of pneu- 
monia — but the majority came skylarking down in 
nothing^but their white cotton drawers and shirts. 


132 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


Another day, another dollar,” quoted Pollok. 
” Them rascals is active enough when it comes to 
quittin' time — ^what ? ” 

Somebody touched me on the shoulder, and I 
saw the doctor smiling whimsically at me. 

” I guess yoiu* patient came off shift with the 
others,” he said. ” No wonder you found him 
pretty quiet. I guess it was the beans that finished 
him.” 

A week later I was in my upper chamber where I 
used to edit the Corral Clarion — the Clarion is the 
most progressive weekly of the most progressive 
mining town in Mexico. I was reading proofs, and 
Enrique, the compositor, had gone out to get the 
mail. To me then came Pollok, just in from the 
mountains, and Fortescue. They made complaint 
of non-delivery. 

I expostulated. 

” Why come to me ? ” I said. ” Get after the 
post office. We send 'em out all right — it's the 
postmasters of your infernal little one-horse camps 
in the mountains that use 'em to paper their office 
walls. As for you, Fortescue, I found your last 
week's copy unopened in the bar of the Foreign 
Club — where you had left it. I advise you to shut 
up before you give yourself away further.” 

” I intend,” said Fortescue nastily, ” to dis- 
continue when my subscription runs out. In future 
I shall take in El Clarin and improve my Spanish.” 

” You may take in El Clarin as much as you like,” 
I retorted, ” but you will not improve your Spanish, 
not the spelling part of it anyhow. The editor is as 
phonetic as yourself.” 


MAUD 


133 


You have not/' complained Fortescue, “ put 
in a word about my Ampliacion de Shaw property 
for five weeks. Do you imagine I buy your paper 
to read about Mrs. Tod's muffin worries ? " 

You ought to know better," said Pollok, " than 
to go an' blow about the Santa Ynez holin' in on 
La Rosa — ^the way you did. That information was 
strictly confidential as between gennelmen. I 
thought better of you. Why ain't there more 
society noos ? " 

This is the sort of thing one has to put up with 
on this class of periodical. 

Happily Enrique staggered in with the mail at 
this moment, in time to stop Pollok playing with 
the typewriter, which he does not understand. I 
gave them, or rather they took, the " Exchange " 
newspapers to keep them out of further mischief. 
Fortescue immediately began to grumble at the 
absence of Sunday Comic Supplements. 

" No Buster Brown," he complained. " No 
Howson Lott. Nothing but railway accidents ! 
Why don't you get more interesting papers ? 
What's that you've got hold of there ? " 

" It’s a letter from Ireland. I shall read it when 

you heathen are out of the way " 

" Sorry ! " said Fortescue. " Why are there no 
pictures of Happy Hooligan and Maud the Mule 
in these papers of yours ? " 

“ The supplements only come on Mondays," I 
said. " You may look at the official correspond- 
ence if you like. Here's a sportsman wants me to 
buy a linotype machine. I will if Enrique cares to 
pay for it out of his wages — and here's another — 
Holy Smoke ! " 


134 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


Pollok heard my cry and looked up sharply. 

Cincinnati beat St. Louis '' he began. 

'' I am not interested in immoral wagers/’ I said. 
'' Listen to this ” 

“ Is it about Happy Hooligan ? ” inquired Fortes- 
cue hopefully. 

“ It’s uncommon about Maud anyway — listen : 

** ' The Editor, The Corral Clarion, 

Dear Sir, — Kindly insert the enclosed notice in 
your esteemed paper, and forward account for same 
to above address. I am 

Yours faithfully, 

I Enclosure. (Miss) Maud Monaghan.’ ” 

“ That ain’t nothin’,” said Pollok. 

” I haven’t read the enclosure yet : * Will Paul 
Jones, who went to Mexico to prospect for gold in 
Oct. 19 — , kindly communicate with M. Monaghan, 
Ho. 4573, 99th Street, Chicago, 111 ., for information 
which may be to his great advantage.’ ” 

” Paul Jones ! ” commented Fortescue. ” That 
wouldn’t be the Englishman, would it ? ” By the 
Englishman, be it distinctly understood, he referred 
specifically to Pollok’s consulting engineer and general 
manager — at the moment out of town on the 
examination of a distant mine. 

” ’S name’s Herbert,” muttered Pollok absently. 
” Paul Jones — eh ? An’ Maud Monaghan ! Did 
you see the letters on the sweat band o’ that hat ? ” 

” I did,” I said. ” You showed it to me after 
the funeral.” The same unspoken thought was in 
both our minds. 


MAUD 


135 


** This is a circular letter/' I went on. She 
must have sent a copy to each of the English news- 
papers in Mexico. Name of the paper's filled in in 
ink. Rest printed to look like typewriting. Took 
a lot of trouble to find him apparently." 

" Oh, hell ! " said Pollok, and his eyes, I noticed, 
M'ere suspiciously bright. He dropped the lids when 
he saw me looking at him, and spat unrebuked upon 
my clean floor. 

" Oh, pshaw ! " he exploded suddenly. " Damn 
them women ! Ain't it entirely her own fault now ? 
She waits until the boy's dead — ^an' him cryin', 
Maud, Maud, why did yeh leave me?"' he spat 
again — ' an' now she goes slingin' advertisements 
into the papers when it's all over. She’s too late ! 
Write an' tell her to go t'hell ! " 

" Good God ! " cried Fortescue, at last catch- 
ing t]ie drift of the conversation. " You don't 
think " 

" I know it ! " said Pollok. " Wasn't his hatband 
marked * P.J.' on the inside — punched in on the 
leather. His shirt — ^what there was of it — was 
marked ' N.B.,' and he has ' A. G. L.' stencilled on 
his handkerchief ; but I'd go on a man's hatband 
any time where there’s a doubt. Bein' a minin' 
man he'd be liable to get his clothes mixed up a 
bit." 

" How do you know he was a mining man ? ” 
objected Fortescue. 

" If he was anything else," said Pollok, " how 
would he come to be afoot in the mountains with 
no money, an' not much clothes, an' typhoid fever 
into the bargain ? " 

The logic of this was unanswerable. It became 


136 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


clear to the meanest intellect that ' P. J/ could be 
none other than the advertised-for Paul Jones who 
had gone prospecting in Mexico. We decided, 
therefore, to lay the facts as gently as possible 
before Miss Monaghan. I wrote the letter myself, 
and I hoped the thought of his passing with her 
name on his lips might serve to comfort her a little. 
Eight days later I received a sad little epistle 
thanking me for my kindness. She said that my 
description of P. J.” made it unquestionable that 
he was the man she sought — allowing, of course, for 
the wastage of the fever. She added that she was 
coming down into Mexico herself ; and might she 
be allowed to plant a few flowers of her own gather- 
ing — she supposed we had wild flowers in Mexico — 
upon the grave. Pollok snivelled openly when I 
showed him the letter, and he promised to come 
to town to meet her on arrival. 

Curiously enough, the same train which brought 
Maud Monaghan to Corral brought back the English- 
man. We were all three at the station — Pollok 
nicely shaved, in a newly purchased shirt, and 
Fortescue with a flower in his buttonhole — and we 
were peering expectantly as passenger after pas- 
senger came down the steps of the end platform, 
when I observed the afore-mentioned Herbert 
Jones, C.E., Mining Engineer, making a violent 
dash from the second-class car to the nearest cab. 
It was so strange to see such an eminently respect- 
able white man as the Englishman electing to 
travel among the sandal-footed that I left the 
'' Welcome to Our Town '' party to follow him. 
I was in dread that he might have given offence 


MAUD 


137 

to the police ; although this seemed hardly 
possible. 

Instead of driving directly to his office, the cab 
which bore the Englishman turned sharply to the 
right at the bottom of the hill. My own Jehu was 
lashing his horse across the Iron Bridge, which spans 
the generally dry bed of the river hereabouts, when 
the Englishman leaped to the curb before the 
offices of the Corral and San Lorenzo Power Co., 
ran up the steps and hurled himself against the 
door. 

It was locked, unfortunately, for it was after 
office hours. By the time I had arrived on the 
scene of action he was dancing excitedly on the 
flower beds in front of the building, and calling luridly 
on the name of Albert Peel. At intervals he stooped 
to gather handfuls of garden mould which he cast 
at an upper window. 

'' He will be shaving himself in the bathroom,'' I 
suggested. '' Let me assist you." 

We both shouted together, and presently the head 
of Albert peered cautiously over the sash. It was 
wrapped in a bathing towel, which gave him a 
distinctly Oriental appearance. He explained that 
he had been washing it. 

" Come down quickly," I said, " and open the 
door. The Englishman has shot a fellow, and the 
police are on his track." 

Peel removed his glasses from his aquiline nose, 
polished and readjusted them. Then he looked 
severely at us. 

“ I'll be down right away," he said, and closed 
the sash. 

It is very agonizing having to wait for a man like 


138 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


Albert Peel — a man whose pulse never exceeds 
fifty-five and whose temperature is set at three 
degrees subnormal — especially when the avengers 
of the Law may turn the corner at any moment ; 
but at last the door opened. The Englishman at 
once tore upstairs and proceeded to get into PeeTs 
bed as he was, drawing the covers well over him. 

Hi ! cried Albert. “ You said yourself the 
other day — when you were telling that Canadian 
story — that people don't get into other people's 
beds with their boots on. It's not done." 

" This is no joking matter," mumbled the English- 
man. 

" I was not aware," said Peel coldly, that I 
was joking. If you must lie down in — ^not on, but 
in — my bed, you might at least have the decency to 
remove a part of your clothing first." Peel's abhor- 
rence of dirt in his room or on his person is very 
singular in a man who hails from a Western state. 

Who did you shoot ? " he asked. 

" I haven't shot anybody," complained the 
Englishman. '' I am pursued by an appalling 
female." 

" In that case," remarked Peel, “ there is no 
reason why you should not get up and undress 
yourself properly. I would not allow her to come 
up here even if you asked me to." 

The Englishman arose from his resting-place at 
these words and began to remove his coat. 

" I saw her when I was getting aboard the train 
at Rosario," he said. “ Fortunately I saw her first. 
She was in the Pullman, so I fled to the first-class 
chair car. At Empalme it was more difiicult on 
account of there being no Pullman car on the local. 


MAUD 


139 


I had to get in among the peons, for the baggage 
man is a swine I fired from the Santa Ynez, and I 
knew I would not be allowed to travel in the baggage 
car. I got in the second-class among the peons. I 
am, most likely, in a frightfully diseased state at 
this moment owing to the ailments I have caught 
from them.'' 

On hearing this news Albert Peel declared his 
intention of not permitting the Englishman to go 
back to bed until he had bathed himself. For- 
tunately the cashier of the Company — who lived 
across the way and kept a dog — ^had a cake of dog 
soap in his possession. This he declared to be un- 
used, although it was suspiciously moist. I brought 
it back without needlessly stirring up the English- 
man's prejudices by hinting at the probable last 
user ; and we prepared the bath. 

** I don't see why you should fly from this woman," 
continued Peel, as he stood in the doorway and wiped 
the condensed vapours of the bathroom from his 
spectacles. " Apparently she has not even seen 
you yet. By the way, she must be a singularly 
homely old bird." 

" She is," said the Englishman. " I met her in 
Chicago some years ago. Her name is Monaghan, 
and she goes in for living for others." 

Both men turned round sharply, for at the men- 
tion of the name I had uttered a startled cry. 

" It's nothing," I said hastily. " Only a passing 
pain. Go on with your narrative." 

" I was staying in Chicago some years ago with 
some people I met in Mexico City," continued the 
Englishman. " American doctor and his wife. 
This monster of a woman — whose name is Monaghan 


140 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


— seemed to be a sort of friend of the family. She 
insisted on following me about and asking foolish 
questions, for she was casting her benevolent eye 
upon the abandoned mining population of the 
south-west, and it occurred to her to prosecute her 
endeavours further afield into Mexico. She could 
not get it out of her head that I was a prospector — 
do I look like a prospector, I ask you ? Further- 
more, she could not even get my name right. In- 
sisted that my Christian name was Paul. It's not — 
it's Herbert. Hang it all, you'd think that even a 
woman would have the sense to learn that much 
in two months." 

“ Did you stay with the doctor as long as that ? " 
I asked in mild surprise. It seemed a fairish holiday 
for a busy man like the Englishman. 

" I — er — ^was detained," he explained. " My 
Christian name — my Chris — ^the reasons for the 
futile mistake of this abominable female were as 
follows : That is to say — er — an American girl who 
chanced — ^who was stopping at this doctor's home 
used to call me Paul Jones after the Pir — ^the 
Father of the American Navy of that name." 

" And so you stayed in Chicago for two months 
to break this American girl of this pernicious 
practice ? Quite right too 1 Was she a nice girl ? " 

The Englishman looked vexed. 

" I was stopping with the American doctor," he 
muttered incoherently. ** This old crow — who 
insists on calling me Paul Jones — ^that is to say 
this frightful female had the cheek to attempt to 
reform what she was pleased to call my drinking 
habits. Now she has dogged me down here, and I 
shall have to hide until she goes away again. Pollok 


MAUD 


141 

will come in to town and leave the mine to look 
after itself. Antonio will get dnmk. The pump 
will break down. The mine will be flooded — no, 
that can't happen now since we holed into La Rosa. 
Anyhow some frightful accident will occur, and I 
shall have to shut down. Hang it all ! It’s not 
right ! ” 

I began to see that we had, perhaps, been over 
precipitate. I therefore left them at this point 
and went to look for Pollok. On my way down I 
met Fortescue. He appeared puzzled. 

Miss Monaghan ” — ^he began. Er — she’s 

hardly — er — ^he was quite a young fellow, wasn’t 
he — ^the fellow who died ? ” 

'' He was,” I said, '' about thirty, I should 
judge.” 

Pollok’s with the lady,” he remarked irre- 
levantly. They are down at the hotel.” 

I advised him to apply at the Power Company’s 
office for further information, and went on to 
interview Miss Monaghan. 

She was seated stiffly in a straight -backed chair 
in the geometrical centre of the room, Pollok 
cowering pitifully in the corner. I noted that he 
wore grey cotton socks and did not use suspenders 
He had hold of his trousers at either knee, clutching 
at them through the badly crumpled brim of his 
hat with a furtive movement ; and his face shone 
with the dew of extreme terror. Miss Monaghan — 
a rawboned lady whose apparent age I politely pass 
over — seemed to have been weeping. 

He spoke real nice at the end. Ma’am,” repeated 
Pollok as I came in. I guess he regretted it a 
heap — not havin’ married you. I guess maybe 


142 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


he'd found religion from knowing you, for he spoke 
so nice " 

I recalled fragments of the instructive brand o' 
talk " I had overheard, and I shuddered. Pollok's 
speaking eye pleaded dumbly for the aid his lips 
dared not ask ; and I bowed to Miss Monaghan. 

Would you mind very much," I said, if I 
took Mr. Pollok away for a little. His consulting 
engineer, Mr. Jenkins " 

“Mr. Who ? " gasped William. 

“ Mr. Jenkins,*’ I said sharply. “ Your consult- 
ing engineer. He has come in on the train and is 
in bed at Peel’s place." 

Pollok appeared too stunned even to reason 
coherently. 

“ Mr. Jenk — ? " he repeated wildly. '' What's 
he doin' there ? " 

“ He is," I said, “ in a very serious state. We 
have had to give him a hot bath and put him to 
bed." I abhor falsehoods. 

Pollok arose and stumbled blindly out into the 
patio. I hoped Miss Monaghan might consider this 
the effect of grief at the bad news. 

“ What’s happened ? " he wailed. “Oh, do 
tell ! " 

“ The matter is beyond telling," I said. “ The 
best thing you can do is to get back to the Santa 
Ynez before Jones catches you — prove an alibi. 
Jones is the man she is after — Jones the English- 
man — not ' P. J.,' ‘ N. B.,' 'A. G. L.,' but Herbert 
Jones, whose given name she has misconstrued into 
Paul ! " 

“ Jones," repeated Pollok inanely, in a dull, 
monotonous voice. 


MAUD 


143 


'' What have you said to her ? I asked. 

“ Jones/' murmured Pollok. Eh ? What ? 
Her ? I said he's dead — that's what I said ! Now 
he can't marry her without me appearin' to be a 
liar — a class o' gente I despise. What are you going 
to do about it ? " 

It is your fault," I said brutally ; for he was 
dazed with horror and astonishment at the moment 
and I am a strong believer in the effects of hypnotic 
suggestion applied at such times. It is entirely 
your own fault." 

It is entirely your fault," echoed Pollok in the 
same flat toneless voice. I looked vexed, and Pollok 
swayed gently toward the bar. You can't do 
that here," I cried, caught him by the shoulder 
and hustled him along to the club. Fortescue came 
in and caught us there. 

“ It's all right," he said. '' At least it's all right 
for everybody except Albert Peel. Jones says he's 
too sick to move from the Power Company's building, 
so he intends to stay in Albert's rooms for a week if 
need be. We're having his meals sent in to him, 
and he wants you to send along his pyjamas and his 
tooth-brush. Also send a message out to Pollok 
on no account to leave the mine until he's well 
enough to get out there himself — and not to say a 
word about him being in town. He's pretty talka- 
tive for a sick man. He said quite a lot about you. 
Bill." 

Why for does he run around dodgin' an' hidin' 
from his girl this way ? " inquired Pollok sourly. 

" Do you seriously imagine," said Fortescue, 
that Miss Monaghan is the original of the photo- 
graph over the Englishman’s washstand ? " 


144 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


Well, she comes from Chicago/* 

It is unexhilarating to watch a strong man's 
brain power breaking down under severe strain. 
Fortescue and I spoke gently and kindly to Pollok 
for the next half-hour, at judicious intervals ad- 
ministering a little mild stimulant. When we had 
finished with him there seemed a fair hope of his 
ultimate recovery. 

" You must go back," urged Fortescue, " to- 
night. I know a man who has a waggon, and he 
can drive you as far as San Lorenzo — No ! You 
canH wait for the train ! — and when you get there 
you must lie doggo until she has quitted the district. 
Otherwise Jones will have to marry her, and she 
will come to live here and will force you to sign 
the pledge." 

Pollok shivered. 

" Pd promised to show her the grave," he said 
weakly. " How about it ? " 

" Have you mentioned the existence of any 
other Joneses in this camp ? " 

" Nope ! " 

Fortescue breathed a sigh of relief. 

" You’re doing well ! " he exclaimed. " Stay 
with it ! " 

Later, under a shining white moon, a waggon 
drawn by two straining mules crashed through the 
dry bed of the river to the west of the sleeping 
town and rolled echoing past the crumbling adohe 
walls of the Chinese gardens on the outskirts. 
Once on the stretch of prairie beyond the two 
outriders, who had escorted the outfit thus far, drew 
rein. 


MAUD 


145 


Remember,” said the voice of Fortescue, ” if 
you make any slip you're liable to break the heart 
of the girl in the photograph that looks like your 
own daughter — also you will have to sign the 
pledge.” 

” I ain't goin' to touch a drop till after it's all 
over,” promised Pollok. 

The driver whipped up the mules, and the waggon 
rolled and rolled and rolled — ^getting smaller and 
smaller on the empty plain — ^toward the moonlit 
mountains to the south-west. 

” Just as well to get him out of town,” said Fortes- 
cue. '' If he'd got tanked — as he's liable to at any 
moment — the fat would have been in the fire in 
five minutes. But he doesn't drink when he's 
working, does he ? ” 

I shook my head. 

” Happy thought to remind him of his daughter,” 
I commented. 

Pollok is a grass widower with one grown-up girl 
to whom he was managing to give a ” college 
education ” at the time whereof I write. 

As we rode back past the Power Company's office 
we saw a light shining upstairs. Peel had been trying 
to get his guest interested in astronomy, but the 
Englishman refused to “ participate in any manly 
pastime ” — ^the quotation is from Miss Monaghan — 
which included looking out of the window. Accord- 
ingly they had fallen back on the gramophone. It 
was appropriate that we, as we rode by in the silent 
night, should be greeted b};^ the voice of a well- 
known tenor. There is enough professional|jealousy 
flying about without my specially mentioning^which 
particular one. He sang]: 

L 


146 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


“ Maxwellton’s braes are bonny 
Where saftly fa’s the dew ; 

An’ ’twas there that Annie Laurie 
Gi’ed me ’’ 

Fortescue's pony was overcome with emotion, 
and stumbled badly. 

'' Curse you ! ” said Fortescue to the horse. 

“ which ne’er forgot shall be ; 

An’ for bonny Annie Laurie 
I would lay me doon and dee,” 

concluded the gramophone. 

'' As a matter of — ahem ! — Annie Laurie married 
another man/' said Fortescue, as we picked our way 
over the uneven planking of the Iron Bridge. It 
has just occurred to me that there may be two 
stories in this incident. One for you to write — 

about ' Maud ' — ^and one for me about " 

Well ? " 

About ^ P. J/ " 

Somehow we managed to keep the secret ; for 
Albert Peel is a reticent man — otherwise he would 
not hold the high position he does, for the Corral 
and San Lorenzo Power Company are no senti- 
mentalists. That Miss Monaghan became interested 
in the mysterious sick man at the Power Company's 
offices, and that Fortescue felt compelled to head 
her off a personal visit by picturing Peel as a sort 
of satyr resident in a low neighbourhood where 
violent drunkards momentarily robbed the passer- 
by, was unfortunate. The sin, however is Fortes- 
cue's — not mine. 

On the third day we got Miss Monaghan on the 
train and took her to San Lorenzo, where she looked 


MAUD 


147 


with pity on the inhabitants and made invidious 
comparisons between their unhappy lot and the 
prosperity of American cities. Old Shaw — who is 
reported to have been an English gentleman, about 
fifty years ago, before he took to booze and lost his 
identity in the West — ^heartily agreed with every- 
thing she said. He even wept senile tears over the 
degradation of the peons, who, not understanding 
English, smoked cigarettes in the shady comers 
and smiled happily at the visitors. Shaw was in 
his usual state, but fortunately she failed to observe 
closely in this instance. 

Then we got her on the back of a gentle horse, 
and I may say that aged female stood the long trip 
out to the mine fairly well. She was a bit stiff 
when she climbed down at Pollok’s, but she was 
game to go down to the new white wooden cross in 
the arroyo right away. Some of the peons followed 
us, and I overheard Antonio, the foreman, explaining 
to his friend the carrero that this was the mamma of 
the American who had died. 

Look,'' he said, how she weeps — Prohrecita ! " 
The peons stared, and murmured sympathetically. 
“ I told the velador” began Pollok, who seemed 
to have lost his head again in the near presence of a 
respectable spinster, to keep an eye on the place 
in case " 

I silenced him with a look. It was not meet that 
Miss Monaghan should be enlightened as to the 
coffin-snatching habits of Monsieur le Peon. Pollok 
looked more miserable than ever, and to make 
confusion worse confounded began the recital of a 
noble act " the alleged Jones had performed six 
months ago, 


148 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


A fellow gets crushed in the shaft bottom by a 
premature blast he commenced. 

But I thought he only came here to die ? 
sobbed Miss Monaghan. 

'' Sure ! ” cried William hastily. “ I was gettin* 
mixed. It’s on account 0’ the names bein’ ” 

So similar,” I explained. Miss Monaghan 
looked dazed. It was Mr. Jenkins, Mr. Pollok’s 
general manager, that saved the man,” I went on. 

I suppose his being sick in Corral made Mr. Pollok 
a bit confused. He is naturally anxious about Mr. 
Jenkins, and has, perhaps, been brooding too much.” 

'' He spoke so nice,” blurted William, falling back 
to safer ground. ** Allowin’ he’d loved you right 
along. It must be a fine thing to win the love o’ a 
good fellow like that.” 

May God forgive us — but I cannot see what harm 
we did. We left P. J.” all glorious to behold ; a 
regular garden bed among the underbrush. We 
conducted a chastened Miss Monaghan back to 
Corral, and saw her safely into the first train north. 
I think, perhaps, the thought that somebody had 
loved her at last may serve to cast a little more 
human sympathy into her good works. The rest 
nobody knows but ourselves and 

Oh, yes ! I was a little anxious about that part 
of it until a girl from Chicago discreetly exposed 
two lines of a letter, keeping her pretty fingers well 
over the more private part of the contents. The 
lines read : 

You won’t give me away, dear, will you ? It is 
too appaling — but you won’t give us away, will 
you ? Anything on earth ” 

That is all she would let me read. 


MAUD 


149 


I think we can trust her to keep it dark ; and 
perhaps Fortescue will write the other story about 
P. J.” Pollok says he ** picturs the other Maud 
as having married a dry-goods clurk what excelled 
in manly pastimes/* 



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PUMPING CHARGES 


I N the good days of Cientifico government — 
when people who made disturbance were shot 
forthwith, and peace and the revenue stamp 
reigned throughout Mexico — William Spenser Pollok 
was superintendent of the Santa Ynez. 

This is the name, not of a virgin martyr, but of 
the wettest underground proposition in the State 
of Durango. The mine was so frightfully wet that 
it paid no dividends — except indirectly to manu- 
facturers of pumping machinery — and current 
rumour had it that natural selection, and the sur- 
vival of the fittest, had produced a race of web-toed 
miners among the native population. All this was 
very sad for the directors of the Santa Ynez, who 
mainly lived in Scotland where money is not easy. 

It is a very peculiar vein — ^the Santa Ynez. 
Except in Mexico it would be impossible. One of 
the funny things about this vein is that it is — or was 
until Pollok got tinkering with the geology of it — 
far wetter in its upper parts than lower down — 
which is against reason. It has other notable 
peculiarities ; but of these you shall hear anon. 

Pollok, as I have said, was superintendent ; and 
a man called Jones — whom men call the English- 
man out there — ^was general manager. A man 
called Fortescue told me most of the story. 


152 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


I had taken an option on the Ampliacion de 

Shaw '' began Fortescue. 

‘‘ I know you had/' I interrupted. ** The scandal 
was all over the town within twenty-four hours. 
Old Shaw makes his living by selling options on 

that mine to people like you " 

'' Well, I had it anyway," he continued, as if it 
were something to be proud of, and since it is in 
the Santa Ynez District I had to be out there quite 
a lot to prevent those fellows on the Boston Phil- 
anthropic from stealing my ore." 

" They couldn't," I said. " There is no ore in 
the Ampliacion. It is far more of the nature of a 
goat ranch than a mine." 

" It was on one of these trips," proceeded Fortes- 
cue, unabashed, " that I first heard Pollok and the 

Englishman discuss the water difficulty " 

But I refuse to tell the tale except in my own 
way. Fortescue is so long-winded. 

I imagine them to have been sitting in the office 
— over against the shaft head. Through the open 
door they could see the dripping iron cage clanking 
to surface with its cargoes of muddy rock, to drop 
once more to steaming and mysterious depths. 
From below came strange throbbing sounds, and a 
constant drip and trickle. In the blazing sunlight 
a pulsating stream foamed from the end of a cast- 
iron column of piping, and a gang of draggled 
pumpmen — ^just up — screwed mine-dazed eyes 
against the glare. Water ran from the cotton 
clothes of the pumpmen in streams, and their hands 
and sandalled feet were bleached and shrivelled. 

You will perceive in this the evidences of a cer- 
tain humidity about the underground workings. 


PUMPING CHARGES 


153 


The Englishman shook his head, as one of the 
gang smiled a twisted smile and spoke a few words 
in the vernacular. 

It’s not right,” he frowned. ** Hang it all, 
it’s not right ! I shall have to advise them to close 
down. John McNeil refuses to spend any more 
money. The mine is too wet.” 

“ In any country,” said Pollok broodingly 
where geology an’ common sense had a kinder 
affinity it would be different ; but here’s the Boston 
Philanthropic — lower down on the same vein — 
pumping one gallon to our three. As you say, Mr. 
Jones, * dammit an’ blow ! It ain’t right ! ’ ” 

The Boston Philanthropic is on a different 
vein,” announced Fortescue. 

” Who told you that ? ” asked the Englishman 
and Mr. Pollok together. 

“ Old Shaw. He was explaining it to me yester- 
day. He has studied the formation ” 

” Ain’t it strange ? ” said Pollok to the English- 
man, and nodded meaningly at Fortescue. Both 
men regarded him as though he had been a reptile. 
” Oh, pshaw ! ” said Pollok. 

” Oh, Ampliacion de Pshaw ! ” corrected the 
Englishman, and Fortescue leaped as if he had 
been stung. ” Explain it to this tenderfoot,” he 
added. No ! Wait ! I shall try once more to 
do so myself. If you listen to Shaw,” he continued, 
** you can never go to heaven. I have told you all 
about this vein before, but you were thinking 
whether one over infinity is greater or less than 
infinity over one, so I wanted my breath. This 
vein we are attempting to work — under frightful 
difficulties — is like this ” 


154 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


He picked a slice of bread from Pollok's dinner 
pail — they had lunched underground in company 
with a burst steam pipe — and stood it up on end. 

Are you paying attention to me ? he asked. 

Fortescue wasn't, and he sighed heavily as he 
realized the hopeless nature of the task he had 
undertaken. 

To carry the unhappy reader through all the 
heartbreaking phases of an attempt to show Fortes- 
cue the outlines of Santa Ynez geology would be 
more than inhuman. It is necessary, however, that 
some idea should be formed as to the Englishman's 
argument. I have said that the Santa Ynez is 
peculiar in more respects than one, and indeed it 
is. Many eminent engineers, who have not so far 
buried a Johannesburg reputation among the 
tricksome reefs of Mexico — ^the land where there 
are no fixed rules — will say that I am merely a 
vulgar liar. A few, who have been there before, 
will be inclined to allow me the benefit of the doubt. 

To proceed, then, on the lines of the Englishman's 
demonstration. A mineral vein is even as a slice of 
bread — rather crumpled and of irregular thickness 
— stuck in the earth in a more or less vertical posi- 
tion. It is an old earthquake fissure which has 
become filled with quartz or other mineral during 
the course of ages. Sometimes the values are in 
the bread itself. In other veins they are in the 
butter. 

In the big Santa Ynez vein the silver is in the 
butter. Moreover, the Santa Ynez is huttered on 
both sides. This sounds very luxurious and pros- 
perous, were it not that the quality of the lubricant 
varies so much. Briefly the vein consists of a core 


PUMPING CHARGES 


155 


of barren quartz, about fifty feet wide, with a two- 
foot ore zone on either wall. It inclines to the west, 
and has been opened up to a depth of two thousand 
feet, exposing the fact that from the outcrop to 
about eight hundred feet the only workable ore 
comes from the eastern, or footwall zone. From 
that depth downwards the ore switches across to 
the western, or hanging wall zone, and the footwall 
becomes practically barren. This is why the Santa 
Ynez workings, which owing to the aforesaid in- 
clination may not be carried below a depth of eight 
hundred feet — the depth at which the vein crosses 
the boundary of the rival company — are on the 
footwall. The Boston Philanthropic people tapped 
the lower reaches of the same big vein from shafts 
further down the mountain, and took ore from the 
hanging wall. The two zones, though distinct, un- 
doubtedly form part of the same vein. One always 
finds the same core of grey quartz — fifty feet from 
wall to wall — between them. 

Tell you what I'm goin' to do," said Pollok. 
" Well drive a cross-cut west from the bottom 
level to the hanging wall. I guess the B. P. has 
trespassed already. If they ain't they're figurin' 
on it. From the end o' this cross-cut we sink a 
winze to meet 'em — an' there's your water problem 
solved. All our superflous drink runs down into 
Brother Perkins’ workin's ; an' the connection is 
made in our own ground, so they can't kick. 

Brother Perkins was the superintendent of the 
thievish Boston Philanthropic. 

" Won't do," demurred the Englishman. " Why 
should they trespass where there is no ore ? " 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


156 

Well then, we*ll make an error in our surveys, 
an' go a bit deeper — ^what ? " 

If I catch you," said the Englishman, " per- 
forming any tricks of that nature — I'll — I'll " 

" Raise me wages ? " 

" You mustn't do it. Bill. We'd get had for sure 
in the law courts. The Governor of the State has a 
raft of shares in the B. P." 

" I aim to do 'em up some way," persisted Pollok. 
" Also it don't seem right to shut down after all 

the trouble we've took. Even if Come in I " 

he broke off abruptly. " Come right in, Mr. Dermot ! 
There ain't no need to be sensitive about it." 

The surveyor of the Boston Philanthropic — a 
lanky, pallid youth with a long prying nose and 
khaki overalls stuffed in the ends of fifteen-inch 
ochre-yellow lace-up boots — ^stood in the doorway. 
He wore an air strangely blended of a forced self- 
confidence and an underlying conviction that he 
was in reality a bit of a fool — which he was. He 
also carried a visible pistol in his hip pocket on all 
occasions, which would make it appear he was new 
hatched from his mining school. If the " old 
timer " goes armed — except on the trail — you 
would never suspect the presence of the " gun." 

Dermot shoved a section of his neck round the 
doorpost. 

" I just looked in," he said, and grinned sheep- 
ishly at the company. Nobody seemed to discover 
any apposite response to this plain statement of 
facts, so he took up the thread of his discourse. 
" Nice ore you've been shippin' these last few days." 

" Ain't so bad, son ; ain’t so bad." 

" Where d'ye get it ? " with a grin. 


PUMPING CHARGES 


157 


Down in the mine/' answered Pollok, with the 
gravity of one imparting priceless inside informa- 
tion. 

'' Smart to-day, ain't you ? " jeered the visitor. 

How's the pump doin' ? " Another grin. 

“ Mindin' its business as usual. Anythin' else 
ye'd like — cast your eye over the cost -sheets, for 
instance ? " 

Seeing that nobody loved him Dermot withdrew 
his neck, and they heard his feet crunching down 
the side of the dump. Pollok spat viciously through 
the window, and tuned his voice to a mocking 
falsetto. 

'' Oh, Mr. Perkins ! " he mimicked, ** please, Mr. 
Perkins ! Guess what I seen at Pollok's place this 
mawnin' ! " 

“ Is that his game ? " asked Fortescue. He 
ought to be a good hand at it. He's fresh enough 
to all appearances." 

" Fresh ? My God ! If there's such a thing as a 
bump o' nateral diffidence, Dermot 's got a hole 

where it ought to be Not that he gets much 

by it," he added. " Antonio tells him the most 
amazin' lies, which the same is reprehensible in 
Antonio — ^but expedient. Personally I'm a truthful 
man " 

Good heavens ! " said the Englishman. 

" Well I am then ! If there's one kind o' man I 
despise it's a habitual liar." 

" Pollok," said the Englishman, let's go under- 
ground before some awful judgment falls upon 
you." 

Fortescue was rising to bid them good-bye, but 
the Englishman invited him to come along. 


158 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


We don't exactly extend these courtesies to 
everybody," he said, " but I think I know when I 
can trust a man — ^you'll find an old suit of mine in 
the locker." 

Fortescue thanked him, and climbed gingerly 
into the mildewed garments proffered, PoUok grabbed 
a handful of candles, and the three men stepped 
out into the sunlight and boarded the cage. 

" Second level," said Pollok. The Englishman 
held up two fingers to the engineer, and with a 
sudden sinking sensation they shot into the splashing 
depths. 

Said the voice of Pollok from out the shaking 
dark : 

" This’ll be a chance for you, Mr. Fortescue, to 
see what Mr. Jones here was talkin’ about. We’re 
goin’ to the second level, where the old timers have 
driven cross-cuts from the footwall vein — the one 
we’re workin’ on — ^to the one the B. P. works lower 
down in their territory. None of the cross-cuts 
they drove cut other than barren stuff, but there’s 
one in the end, all choked with old fill and rubbish, 
where the water comes runnin’ out under the fill. 
Maybe they opened her up a bit at that point — 
drove a bit of a tunnel on the hanging wall — so 
there’s a chance you can see what we were talkin’ 
about. Antonio’s gettin’ it cleared now." 

The cage slowed down, and the station — dimly 
lit by a mud-spattered electric globe — rose into 
view. Beyond, the gloomy portal of a cross-cut — a 
jjeven by five-foot tunnel driven at right angles to 
the course of the vein — led to the actual workings. 
They lit their candles and fared forth. 

Presently the gallery twisted sharply to the right, 


PUMPING CHARGES 


159 


quartz appeared in the untimbered parts of the roof 
above them, and they were now in what is technic- 
ally known as a drift '' — that is to say, a gallery 
which follows the vein. On their left they occa- 
sionally passed other cross-cuts driven to the west, 
but these — ^when not refilled with broken rock — 
were invariably '' blind.'' The hanging wall zone 
had not appeared sufficiently promising to warrant 
further exploitation. 

Nor was work in progress now on the level on 
which they were travelling. The mouldering timber 
overhead, and the solitary mine-car — broken and 
red with rust — ^which stood forlornly beneath a 
broken chute, proved that ore had once been en- 
countered ; but now the workings on the second 
level had been exhausted and abandoned these 
many years, the track had been ripped up, and 
Pollok's ore come from the sixth and seventh — ^two 
to three hundred feet lower down on the same vein. 

At the end of the gallery Antonio, the Mexican 
foreman, sat in state upon a piece of plank and 
superintended the operations of two damp fellow- 
mortals in straw hats. These were languidly 
shovelling the '' fill " from the last of the westerly 
cross-cuts, and had by this time cleared a space 
large enough to give access beyond the pile of 
broken rubble which the “ old timers " had thrown 
in here out of the way. 

In fact, the mud on Antonio's breast and back 
showed where he had already adventured the pass- 
age. He seemed, by his self-satisfied air, to be in 
exclusive possession of strange and thrilling news. 

'' Que hubo ? " inquired Pollok. 

Antonio grinned. 


i6o WILLIAM POLLOK 

There is another working/' he said, and held 
his lighted candle in the entry. 

Through the narrow aperture between the arched 
roof and the pile of fill " on the floor came a 
distinct current of air, flickering the flame. 

That's strange," said Pollok. He motioned the 
peons out of his way, and crawled up on the rock- 
pile, thrusting his guttering candle before him. 
" By Heck ! " he cried. " There sure is ! I can see 
the opening." 

There arose a heavy puffing sound, and a grating 
of stones. A button rent sharply from its moorings. 
Pollok was now worming his serpentine way over 
the obstruction. 

" It's the old bangin' wall drift that was on that 
plan you showed me," came a muffled voice from 
the interior. " Hell ! Ain’t it wet ? " 

They followed him — not with ease — and were 
astonished to find themselves in a drift similar to 
the one they had just quitted — also equally wet. 
Drops splashed from the roof to the sluggish stream 
which ran ankle-deep below, and a million tiny 
facets flashed back the light of the candles from 
the untimbered walls. Beyond the tunnel itself 
there was no sign of work having been attempted. 
The vein which showed itself in the roof had proved 
unproductive. 

" Now this," said the Englishman, " is just what 
I was telling you about. Here we have a drift 
driven on the hanging wall side of the big barren 
core — on the zone, in fact, which Perkins is working 
five|or six hundred feet below this point. Further 
in, I imagine, we shall find a little winze, or shaft. 
Where the devil is Antonio ? " 


PUMPING CHARGES i6i 

He*s gone on ahead with Pollok/' said Fortes- 
cue. He '' 

His remarks were suddenly interrupted by a 
heavy walloping sound — as of some dread, cave- 
dwelling beast, disporting in deep water. Mingled 
with this came a splutter of Spanish vulgarity. 

That'll be the winze I was talking about," said 
the Englishman fretfully. " It's on the old plan. 
Why can't Antonio look where he's going ? " 

They splashed along the drift to investigate the 
disturbance, and arrived in time to see Pollok 
drawing the foreman from the deep. It was indeed 
the little winze marked on the old plan. Judging 
by Antonio's appearance he had been down in 
several fathoms, and his hat yet floated on the 
ruffled waters which veiled the gulf beneath. 

" Dios ! " quoth he gloomily. " One more lower- 
ing and it would have been * Adios, Antonio ! ' " 

" In my conception," said Pollok in Spanish, ''the 
loss would have been insignificant. Go to the cross- 
cut , and tell one of your good-for-nothing men to bring 
a ball of twine and a plummet — ^to plumb the winze." 

Antonio retired grinning, and in not more than 
twenty minutes a prompt peon came splashing along 
with the scientific appliances ordered and the 
customary excuses for the delay. Behind him a 
companion bore a ladder which Antonio's thought- 
fulness had added to the list of things ordered. 
This last was stretched across the inundated shaft, 
and squatting on it Pollok paid out the line. 

" How deep did you say this was ? " he inquired 
presently. 

The old man put it at fifty feet," said the 
Englishman. 


M 


i 62 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


Pollok let out another fathom of line. 

'' That must make nigh on two hundred an' 
sixty/' he remarked. Oho, them native engineers ! 
Ain't this place got no bottom at all ? ” 

** What a job we'd have had dredging up Antonio," 
ruminated the Englishman. " He must be spoken 
to severely." 

" Bottom ! " said Pollok. '' Three hun No, 

it ain't ! " he broke off. " Hit a ledge I reckon. 
Three — ten — twenty — three-thirty — three-fifty, by 
Heck! Ah!" 

The line slackened, and no amount of manoeuvring 
would induce the bob to sink deeper. 

" Goes down quite a way," said Pollok. '' This 
looks like the whyfor o' that extry wet spot on the 
seventh — eh ? " He whistled gently to himself for 
a minute or two ; then burst into loud and joyful 
laughter. " Just thought on a new stunt," he ex- 
plained to the amazed onlookers — who feared for 
his sanity. 

Further inspection of the old hanging wall drift 
thus accidentally rediscovered revealed a fall of 
ground which effectively checked the level. The 
Englishman gave it as his opinion that the drift 
itself, and the submerged shaft, represented the 
last efforts of some wild-eyed enthusiast to find a 
continuation of a superficial lense of ore known to 
have existed in former days. There seemed no 
prospect of encountering better fortune than this 
person had met with, so the Englishman contented 
himself with suggesting the filling up of the shaft, 
to mitigate the seepage below, and returned to drop 
to the seventh level. 

Near by a chute on this lowest working of the 


PUMPING CHARGES 163 

Santa Ynez mine Pollok paused, and slapped the 
wall of the drift on the western side. 

I guess that shaft's about opposite here," he 
ventured. " Cross-cuttin' fifty or sixty feet to the 
west, we could tap it at two hundred an' fifty feet 
from the collar, an' get a better idea o' what it's 
really like." 

" That would be a silly thing to do," said the 
Englishman. " You'd flood the workings." 

" Guess so," murmured William absently. " That 
water'd come through with one great hell of a rush, 
wouldn't it ? " 

They again returned to the shaft, and rang up to 
surface. Pollok was communicative in the cage, 
but as soon as they reached daylight and he beheld 
the ubiquitous Dermot standing on the edge of 
the dump, he became violently active. He hurried 
into the office, where Fortescue followed him in 
time to see him snatch a hand specimen of high- 
grade ore from a drawer. This he dipped in the ewer 
— dabbling it about to remove the accumulated 
dust — and thereupon commenced to examine it 
closely with a pocket lense. 

" Gee ! " said Dermot, entering. " That's a tony 
lookin' piece ! " 

" Pretty, ain't it ? " said William, passing it 
over. 

Dermot gazed at the wet lump of rock in his 
hand. 

" A ton or two like that'd cover your pumpin' 
charges, all right, all right," he ventured. " It's a 
pity the vein you're workin' is so wet." 

Outside the office the voices of Antonio and the 
carrero on duty were heard in conversation. One 


164 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


well versed in the manners of the country might 
have detected a painful precision and clarity in 
the way they chose and pronounced their words. 
Said Antonio : 

' But yes, man ! I tell you. It is metal of the 
most rich. It is on the hanging wall. Between 
the second and the third. By supposition we shall 
find it goes down to the boundary.'' 

'' Cuidado I Have a care ! " replied the carrero. 

This senor understands Castilian. That is to say 
in his conception," he added hurriedly, slurring the 
last sentence into one word. 

" Funny the foot wall's so wet," repeated Dermot. 

" Lots o' funnier things in this world," said 
Pollok darkly. 

Months later Mr. Fortescue once more rode up 
the winding trail to Pollok's house. John Hop, 
Chinese culinary artist, was washing his shirt in the 
saucepan, and on William’s bed a stray pariah dog 
snatched a few moments of uneasy slumber. Other- 
wise the place was deserted. 

Fortescue pointed out the presence of the hound, 
and whilst John Hop administered a rude intro- 
duction to the luxuries of the bath by empty- 
ing the extemporized washtub over it, he swung 
back into the saddle and rode on to the shaft 
head. 

A Gentleman who was engaged at a small salary 
to push a car from the shaft to the ore-bins — ^the 
same who conversed with Antonio — informed him 
that " Don Guillermo " was below. Fortescue is 
well enough known at the Santa Ynez to have un- 
questioned access to the workings, and presently 


PUMPING CHARGES 


165 

he discovered the great man in an atmosphere of 
steam, murky lights and evil temper, on the seventh 
level. For a space the sinker pump was the principal 
theme of his intemperate utterances, but on seeing 
Fortescue his face cleared. 

** Hullo ? he cried. What^s the good word ? 

Fortescue shook his head. '' Jones was coming 
out with me,'' he said, but he was detained. He 
said to tell you it's all U. P." 

Pollok snarled. 

“ When'd he get the letter ? " he asked. 

Day before yesterday. McNeil says to draw 
the pumps and let her flood. Jones is to look round 
for a more suitable property to invest the remainder 
of the Syndicate's funds." 

" They ain't got but two thousand pounds left ! " 
cried Pollok. " 'Pon my soul, them old women 
make my feet weary ! An' just when I'm solvin' 
the water problem for them too ! " 

Fortescue stared. 

" Your pumping charges were up twenty per cent 
for last month ! " he expostulated. 

" Don't I know it ? It was me an' Antonio made 
'em go up that way — doin' evil that good may 
come of it. Just step in here a minute." 

Fortescue followed him ; and there, where on a 
former occasion Pollok had spoken of cross-cutting 
to the flooded shaft, he stopped and stared aghast. 
Thirty feet up a new opening to the west stood a 
strange contraption of timber and boiler plate ; 
through the oakum packed joints between wood 
and metal spurted hissing streams ; and in the 
silence of the mine ominous crackling sounds adver- 
tised the pressure of the column of water — two 


i66 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


hundred and fifty feet of it — thrusting on the other 
side. 

“ Merciful heavens ! “ cried Fortescue. “ Why 
did you do that ? “ 

“ I wanted to examine the shaft/' explained 
Pollok solemnly. “ Jones don't know about this 
cross-cut. This cross-cut was drove by me an' 
Antonio, an' it cuts that there shaft about two-fifty 
feet from the collar. The shaft goes down a heap 
further than that though, for we rigged the spare 
sinker pump an' got her cleaned out to bottom. 
It goes down to an old stope, which same is in our 
ground, but it wouldn't take much sinkin' to hole 
out in Perkins' workin's. It's all filled up again 
now — ^with water." 

“ So I perceive," muttered Fortescue. 

“ Shouldn't wonder," continued Pollok, ‘\but 
Dermot's got a hunch we get our best ore there- 
abouts.^ I ain't said nothin' to him — but Antonio 
tells a heap o' lies. It beats me how that chap 
thinks o' the things he tells Dermot." 

“ But — ^the water — ^they wouldn't dare " 

stuttered Fortescue. 

“ As for that," explained Pollok, “ Dermot tells 
me there ain't no water on the hanging wall vein. 
'Sides it's not morally certain Dermot knows just 
how deep that old shaft goes, or how far down that 
old stope is. Hark to that now ? " 

Against the boiler-plate, or through the boiler- 
plate, sounded a muffled knock — a telephonic sug- 
gestion of the stroke of a hammer. Antonio laughed, 
and as he did so the sound was repeated. A third 
and a fourth followed in quick succession, and the 
bulkhead shook. 


PUMPING CHARGES 


167 


Quite loud ! ” remarked Pollok unctuously. 
** You'd never think that blastin' was three hundred 
feet below us, would you ? " 

A fifth report beat its way through the deadening 
liquid, and the barricade crackled so alarmingly 
that Fortescue took a hasty step backwards. Pollok 
jumped simultaneously, but despite the most dis- 
concerting volley of creaks and groans the bulk- 
head stood. Whilst they hung undecided, uncer- 
tain whether to fly or await further developments, 
Antonio gave a startled cry. 

'/ agua ! " he croaked. “ Senores — the water 
—look ! " 

As he shouted a strange thing came to pass. 
The spouting streams dwindled and diminished, the 
former vicious hissing died to a murmur, a trickling 
sound, and finally to a slow and solemn drip. The 
spectators looked at one another open-mouthed. 

** I guess," said Pollok reverently, " Brother 
Perkins is even more o' a hustler than I took him 
for." 

It was at this moment that Fortescue properly 
realized the nature of the " good " which had sprung 
from the evil deed of Pollok. The benefits which 
seemed about to fall upon the Santa Ynez, however, 
could hardly be said to extend themselves to the 
Boston Philanthropic. The eternal and immutable 
laws of compensation have decreed that " the sweet" 
— as the Chaplain o' th' Cloud i* the Sun explained 
to Black Bill — hath need of the sour." Apparently 
a new outlet had been opened for Santa Ynez water, 
but whither had that water gone ? 

Men came around Mr. Fortescue ; eager hands 
tore at the supports with pick and crowbar. Almost 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


1 68 

in less time than it takes to relate, the steel plate 
fell clanging. In a dream of dark faces and grinning 
white teeth Fortescue found himself in the centre 
of a gloomy chimney which slanted off into the 
dark overhead, and yawned mysteriously at his 
feet. Somebody dropped a rope ladder, and lashed 
it in place. A short scramble down the shaft 
brought Fortescue to an irregular-shaped working — 
the old stope mentioned by Pollok. At the bottom 
of this narrow, rock- walled shaft, was a ragged 
hole into which a steady stream still ran. From 
the depths came a white man's voice uplifted in 
bitter oaths ; and, peering down, they caught the 
distant glint of candles. 

It's devilish wet in here," said Pollok. " I 
guess Antonio must ha' stopped the pump already. 
No need to be in such an indecent hurry. Hullo 
down there ! " 

" Hullo ! " boomed back a voice from amongst 
the distant candles. 

" What's happened ? Anyone hurt ? It's 
Perkins himself," he added in an undertone. 

" My God ! " cried Perkins. " Is that you, 
Pollok ? Guess we hit a cloudburst or somethin'. 
I've just come down myself to find out. All the 
timber in Number Three Stope 's gone to Hades, an' 
Dermot — ^he was down when it happened — 's about 
half-way to San Lorenzo by this time, I guess. 
They tell me he went into the cage over the heads 
of fifty-six men that were waiting their turn to go 
up in the station, an' five cars of ore. There's about 
a hundred feet of water in the bottom of the mine ! 
My God ! If the nen hadn't been cornin' off work 
we'd 'a lost half the shift ! What shall I do ? " 


PUMPING CHARGES 


169 


“ Get busy an' pump/' said Pollok cruelly. '' I 
guess there'll be some more cornin', for this here 
hole connects with all our workings. I'm right 
sorry for you, Mr. Perkins, but I guess your men 
must have trespassed into our ground. I guess 
they holed out in our old shaft which we don't 
use, 'cept for a sump to let the mine water run into. 
I hope none of them ain't drowned, Mr. Perkins ? " 
It is better to suppress Mr. Perkins' reply, for it 
is charitable to suppose that he was not quite him- 
self at the moment. Not wishing to vex him further, 
Fortescue and Pollok withdrew to the level above. 

Shut off the steam from the pump, Antonio," 
ordered the latter. " El Senor Perkins will do that 
work for us, gracias d Dios, in the future ; the which 
will be in the nature of a great economy in working 
costs. By accident the people of La Rosa mine 
have trespassed into our ground, and have made a 
communication down which the water will run into 
La Rosa workings." 

" Haw ! " exploded Antonio, and slapped his 
thigh. " Haw ! Haw ! Haw ! " 



ENCINILLAS 


ENGINILLAS 


T SEEN a man/* said Henderson, “do a 
I funny thing, oncet/* 

A This was told to me by the headwaters 
of one of the creeks which run nor*- west into the 
Bazonopa River — on the extreme edge of the Sierra 
Madre of Northern Mexico. A mile to the west of 
us the rolling mountain country broke suddenly in 
a colossal step, full five thousand feet, to a gorge 
where banana palms and orange groves clustered 
round the little thatched ranch houses. But that 
was to our west. Where camp was made the great 
pine trees rose solemnly toward the stars, and the 
water of the creek was icy cold with melted snow 
from the higher slopes of Muinora. 

I mention all this, because Henderson — who now 
proceeded deliberately to light a cigarette — has 
moved among such surroundings all his life. It 
may help to explain him. At the moment he was 
lighting a cigarette in the dark — ^splash of match- 
light on one human face against the immensity of 
the night — and he had come to the conclusion that 
once he saw a man do a funny thing. 

“ What did he do ? ** I asked. “ Forgot to draw 
his money on pay day ? ’* 

“ I ain’t met that man yet,** observed Henderson, 
“ tho* I pictur* you* re quite capable *f doin* it — 
173 


174 WILLIAM POLLOK 

quite capable. Yu forget most things, don't 
yu ? " 

Most things," I agreed. " Not a// things though. 
Otherwise I might be holding down a decent job, 
instead of chasing round the Sierras with an 
old heathen like yourself. Proceed with your 
parable." 

" It ain't a parable. It's a plain statement o' 
facts. It happened up in Sonora, which same is no 
country for poets. It happened way back in — in 
'93, I guess, I get a bit mixy in my dates sometimes 
— gr owin' old. 

" 'Y’ever hear o' Encinillas — 'bout five miles 
acrost from the Chihuahua state bound 'ry in Dis- 
trito Montezuma, Sonora ? It's a sure tough camp 
— always was ; an' it was tougher then, before the 
railroad come to Casas Grandes. It's a new camp ; 
for I discovered it." 

" Come now, Henderson ! A drop of whisky to 
calm your mind ? I've never been to Encinillas 
myself ; but I know the fellow who did discover 
the mine well enough by sight. Drives his 
own car in El Paso and he keeps race horses in 
Juarez." 

" Shah ! " grunted Henderson contemptuously. 

Yo're four generations later'n the actool fellow 
who jumped my claim. I get too bust to pay my 
taxes, an’ — an’, other things happens, so natch 'lly 
the mine goes caduca — falls open to re-denounce- 
ment. Maybe when yuVe lived long enough yu’ll 
learn it’s not the fellows as make the discoveries get 
to drive bubble waggons in El Paso. Yu ought to 
know that ; for weren't yu a kickin' to me how a 
fellow dies poor in London after he’s struck a noo 


ENCINILLAS 


175 


brand o' poetry ? Nobody takes the trouble to 
investigate close, till after he's croaked — then they 
find out maybe it'd paid better to get next to what 
he's doin' sooner — but it's too late. Now, that's 
the same in minin' an' ever 'thing else." 

" Publishers are swine," I remarked. 

"No they ain't," continued Henderson oratoric- 
ally — ^now w^ell astride his philosophical hobby — 
" leastways not more'n the next man. Listen to 
me. I figure how literature an' prospectin' has a 
kinder afiinity, both them callin's bein' apparently 
persecuted by fellows like yu an' me with a disin- 
clination to steady work. Yo're poet friend, 
deceased, gambles on he's struck a noo brand o' 
po'try — 'riginality ? — s'pose that's the word — yu 
ought er know. Ain't that just the same's findin' a 
mine ? 

" Yu can take it from me that ninety-nine per 
cent o' the prawspectors in this country was born 
dam' liars an' ain't been able to shake the habit 
since. 'Bout eighty per cent o’ what's left is got 
no sense — ain't got sense enough even to take a fair 
sample — an' can't tell a good prawspect frum an 
indifferent goat ranch. Result is that when I blow 
in — needin' capital to develop — folks is so fed up 
they just say, ' Oh hell ! Here's another o' them 
blame prawspectors. Quick ! Out by the back 
door before he sees us ! ' Them ' sure-'nough- 
greatest-mine-ever-was ' bunch has got 'em so 
natch’lly peevish it takes a heap of encouragement 
to make 'em risk even a little money ; an' then, 
chances is, they don't risk enough an' that, o’ 
course, makes 'em peevisher'n ever. I figure it's 
the same in literature an' ever 'thing else.” 


176 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


“ Supposing the man you went to set himself up 
as a person that knew something about it ? I 
grumbled. 

'' If he knows anythin’ at all he’ll know yu can’t 
tell much about a noo discovery till yu’ve spent 
money an’ opened it up a bit. Yu can tell a little — 
but not much. Stakin’ fellow’s like me is no job 
for the cold-feet brigade, an’ I tell ’em so.” 

” By the way,” I remarked, ” this was to be a 
plain tale and no parable. The poet’s dead — ^no 
amount of talk can ever raise him again. Proceed 
to the funny thing you saw the fellow do.” 

The working of Henderson’s mind is as the 
grinding of the mills of God. He lit another cigarette 
and drew a blanket over his shoulders. Then he 
spat in the fire. 

” I’m cornin’ to that” he said deliberately. " When 
yu’re as old’s I am maybe yu’ll have learned 
patience — an’ to take note when a fellow tells 
yu things that is so. I come to Encinillas in ’93 — 
or maybe ’92 — I forget — ^walkin’ weary up the trail 
behind a burro ; an' I discover the Encinillas 
Mine. 

” It’s funny lookin’ ore — the Encinillas ore — 
more like dyke rock to look at than anythin’ else I 
ever see. But I seen the ' lead ’ ; an’ I says, ' I 
got a hunch Gawd puts mineral in this here rock — 
what looks so strange — when He jines up the world.’ 
So I go to trenchin’, an’ cuttin’ samples along the 
outcrop ; an’ then I hike over by Casas Grandes to 
Chihuahua — afoot an’ drivin’ the burro. ^ 

” I ain’t got no money, nor nothin’ — ^just a little 
grub an’ the burro — so when I get to Chihuahua I 

^ Donkey. 


ENCINILLAS 


177 

sell the burro ; an' I look about for a man what'll 
take a chanst on my noo mine. 

A fellow that's holdin' down a seat on the 
plaza — broke — ^puts me next to another fellow that 
has an office on Calle Libert ad. I thank him, an' 
stand him a breakfust for th' information ; an' 
then I blow in on the other fellow with my samples. 

Good mawnin', says Mister Man. I guess he's a 
Johnny Bull by his brass collar * Henglish h’airs,' 
an’ the fancy ridin' pants — ^he'd been out on the 

trail hisse'f it'd seem " 

All right, Henderson, I can imagine that 
part.” 

'' * Good mawnin, me good fella,' he says.” 
Henderson assumed the extraordinary throaty 
articulation which he fondly believes to be the 
” English h 'accent.” “ ' Wat kin ai dew for yew, 
bai Jove, dontcherknow.' ' I ain't so certain,' I 
says, ' as you can do anythin'. I'm a prawspector.' 
' Saow ai perceive,' says Mister Man, lookin' like 
he's swallered his glass eye. 

” ' But I ain't a god dam’ liar,' I says, ‘ on which 
pre-mises we will begin negotiatin'. In these here 
sample sacks, which you see before you, I hev 
sundry samples of ore from a lead that I encounters 
in the course o' my preambulations.' ' Well, turn 
'em out,' he says. * This is me busy day.' Hender- 
son began to forget to put in the English accent 
at this point. ” ' Turn 'em out,' he says, ‘ an' let's 
have a look at 'em.' ‘ Which,' I says, ‘ not bein' a 
god dam' liar, I ain't goin' so far as to say that this 
yere ore is good ore, nor that the lead wharfrom I 
cuts them samples is the noo Dos Estrellas ; but I 
aim to pint out my privit opinion — ^which same is 


N 


178 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


that so far as I know from jedgin' what I hev seen — 
Gawd maybe put ore in that lead. Mister Man 

begins to turn the samples out hisse'f ’ 

I don't blame him," I interrupted. 

“ Then he begins to laugh," resumed the un- 
ruffled Henderson. " ‘ IVe a pretty wide experi- 
ence,' he says, * but I guess you've a wider if you 
can tell me this stuff'll pay. Why,' he says, ' that 
ain't nothin' but ornery dyke rock ! ' ‘ Which,' I 
says, ‘ is how it appears to me ; but after studyin' 
the ways o’ Gawd in the Sierras since afore yu was 
born ' — ^he was a young fellow — ' I comes to the 
con-clusion that maybe that there dyke rock is 
mineralized. So if yu figure on takin’ a chance ' 

Oh, pshaw ! ' he says, sharp like. ‘ Me good fellow, 
yu'd oughter kno’ better 'n that. Now here's some- 
thin' more like,' he says. 

" ' It's off'n another vein,' I tell him. * I 'low it 
don’t run.' ‘ I can't deal,' says Mister Man. ‘ It's 
no use talkin'. But, seein' yo’re disappinted,' he 
says — ‘ I ain't,' I says — ‘ I'll have the samples run 
for you in me own assay office,' he says. ‘ Just to 
show I’m right,' he says. ' I ain’t sayin' yo're not 
right,’ I tell him again, * but maybe yo're wrong. 
An' I thank yu.' 

Well," continued Henderson, '' he sends for me 
next day, an' I come up to his office, an' he shows 
me the results o' the assays. They run about how 
Ld guessed they'd run — some tol'ble good ; others 
not. I was right about the stuff from the other vein 
what he'd looked at last. It run a trace o' silver, 
an' no gold. Mister Man seems kinder stand-offish. 

" ' Well,' he says, ‘ me good man. I've a kinder 
blawsted hunch you put one over me yesterday. 


ENCINILLAS 


179 


Seems yo're — aw — dyke is kinder out o' th' ordinary. 
Case o' secondary enrichment, I s'pose,' he says — an' 
he looks at me hard. ' If yu mean I salted them 
samples,' I says, ' yu're off yo’re base. Freely an' 
frankly — I done nothin' o’ the sort.' ‘ Oh no ! ' he 
says, shocked like. I seen he means ' Oh yes.' 
' If I’d gone to salt them,' I says, ‘ I'd have shorely 
run the values up higher. It 3m want to come in 
on this now’s yo’re time ; an’ the terms is largely 
up to yu. I want that land denounced, an' I want 
enough o' a grubstake to do some devel'pment — ^to 
see whether she’s li’ble to improve in depth.’ ' Good 
mawnin',' he says, pretty sharp. I seen he’s made 
up his mind I had salted them samples ; so I come 
away.” 

Henderson made such a long pause that I thought 
we had come to the end of the tale ; but apparently 
not. After perhaps five minutes of profound medita- 
tion he spread his horny hands to the fire and resumed 
his dreary narrative. 

” S’pose yu think that’s the on'y man I go to ? 
Why no ! I go to twenty more — stakin’ along the 
assay paper the Britisher’s give me. It gets to be 
quite a joke around town — me an’ my samples.” 

“ And did you find anybody to back you ? ” I 
asked. It did not look very likely that he had, 
considering his business methods. 

” Sure ! ” said Henderson. ” That’s what I 
aimed to tell ye about from the beginnin’. Fellow 
called Le Noir gets an interest in my discovery, an’ 
another fellow called Carpenter — ’yever hear tell o’ 
them two boys ? ” 

Not I ! ” 

” Well, yu can find all about ’em up aroun’ 


i8o 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


Encinillas, or Casas Grandes for that matter. Not 
to say exactly as how they live there ; but that's 
the place to go look for them. 

* Them two boys hadn't got much cash to spare ; 
but we fix it the way they're cornin' out with me 
themse'ves — an' we're all to work as pardners, an' 
they'll pay for the denouncement taxes, an' grub, 
an' minin' supplies an' so forth — just enough to 
develop the Encinillas. I told 'em how I wasn't 
promisin' nothin', an' how it's a dreary place to 
live — ^but they guessed they was game. 

Trouble with most young fellows is they 
frequent got another guess cornin’ — an' don't know 
it. Le Noir an' Carpenter ain't been long in the 
country, it develops subsequent, an' they've been 
readin' up about the wild, free life o' the minin' 
camp. Maybe yu've noticed the fellows come off 
shift in some o' them wild-free camps, an' sit down 
on the doorstep wonderin' what in hell they're to 
do with themse'ves till it’s time to go to work 
again. I guess it takes just about a month o' that 
to convince the average tenderfoot how the wild, 
free life o' a cannin' factory 's the thing after all. 
I'd learned patience by this time ; an' Le Noir 
maybe he'd 'a learned too if Carpenter 'd give him 
time. I guess Carpenter's the cause o' all the 
trouble. 

'' I guess it's Carpenter's stomach's weak, or 
suthin ' — frijoles an' bacon don't agree with him. 
He's a kind o’ weak constituted fellow ; but Le 
Noir’s one o’ the strongest men I ever see. Maybe 
that'll account for the funny thing Tm goin' to tell 
ye about. 

“ We get on well enough for the first month, 


ENCINILLAS 


i8i 


WeVe got a mule, an’ a hawss ; an’ we pack 
supplies out over the mountains from Casas Grandes. 
We’d sunk the shaft down maybe twenty feet on 
the vein, an’ she didn’t seem to improve much. 
Carpenter begins to get peevish. He says he can’t 
eat the food, an’ it ain’t right to be pickin’ on him 
for not doin’ his share o’ work when he’s sick„ 
Nobody was pickin’ on him. I tell him he’d better 
take the rifle an’ have a day ’r two up among the 
tall timber — up in the mountains — ^an’ shoot a deer. 
That’d have he’ped him a heap — but Carpenter 
’lows he’s too sick to go on no huntin’ trip. We 
tell him all right — to please hisse’f. Another month 
goes by, an’ we’ve but sunk the shaft maybe ten 
feet more. That rock’s the hardest rock I ever 
see. 

Le Noir — who’s a big, strong fellow — he takes 
two ore sacks one day, an’ fills ’em full, an’ totes 
’em on his back from the shaft to the tent we have — 
that’d be about three hundred yards up hill. I 
guess he just did that for fun — ^to show how strong 
he was — ^but Carpenter he takes it as a personal 
matter. He’s grievin’ all that week over how Le 
Noir done that as a hint to him to get out — figurin’ 
he’s tryin’ to show Carpenter’s not up to the work. 
He was a hard man to live with — Carpenter — an’ 
Le Noir never meant no harm. 

“ Then Carpenter starts in pickin’ on Le Noir 
about the quantity he eats. Le Noir says thank 
Gawd he’s got a healthy appetite, an’ Carpenter 
bounces out’n the tent spittin’ like an angry bob- 
cat. I laffed the day Le Noir carr’d them sacks up 
the hill ; but now I spoke to him. I says : ' Le 
Noir,’ I says, ‘ I ain’t no alarmist ; but that man’s 


i 82 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


gettin' dangerous. I’d hate to have to stop work 
now, but either it’s that or else one of yu two’d 
better get out o’ here fer a speU.’ It was a lone- 
some place then — Encinillas — before the mine gets 
boomed. There was a bit o’ a pueblo three miles 
down the creek, but no other white men near — 
jest red rocks, an mezquital an’ white oak. The 
natives what lived in the pueblo was quiet, innercent 
folks then ; an’ they never gets drunk, nor offers to 
molest us any. 

* Oh, pshaw ! ’ says Le Noir, after I warn him. 
' After all the time an’ money I’ve spent, d’ye sup- 
pose I’m a goin’ to get run out by a little sawn-off 
scoundrel like that ? Oh hell ! ’ he says. ' I don’t 
want to butt in on yo’ie privit affairs,’ I says, ‘ but 
I’m just warnin’ ye. I sure hate to hev trouble in 
camp ; an’ yu can take it f’um me, boy, there ain’t 
no silver what’s worth a man’s life.’ 

“ Le Noir laffs an’ giggles fit to bust. ' I ain’t 
goin’ to kill Carpenter, whatever happens,’ says he. 
‘ Give yu my word on that,’ he says. He was a big, 
strong fellow ; an’ bold. I liked that boy a heap. 
‘ I take yo’re word,’ I says ; an’ we let it go at 
that. 

Now don’t yu go to beleeve Gawd don’t take a 
hand somewhere in any game that’s goin’. I’m 
an old man, an’ have travelled far ; an’ maybe yu 

think I’m nothin’ but an old prawspector 

that’s most fergot how to talk even — let alone think. 
Maybe yu’re right — I ain’t promisin’ nothin’ — but 
agen maybe yu’re wrong. 

What I means to imply is that, five days later, a 
rancher fellow comes ridin’ down the trail, when 
I’ve gone down to the crick for water. 


ENCINILLAS 


183 

Buenas tardes,' he says, an' I seen to my ser- 
prise it's a fellow called Ridolfo Pena — (I am well 
aware that your Spanish book spells this name 
Rodolfo," but Henderson did not learn his 
Spanish from books) — " what I'd known years 
before. He was a Yaqui Indian — so it'd be nat'ral 
for him to be livin' thereabout — an' he was pretty 
well fixed for an Indian. * Buena tarde, Ridolfo,' I 
says. * Hell ! ' I says. * Yo're a nice fello' to be 
ridin' by with no more'n a good afternoon " for 
yo're old amigo.* " 

Is a Yaqui Indian an act of God ! " I inquired 
peevishly. The " funny thing " seemed as remote 
as ever, and I wanted to turn in. 

" Maybe I'll learn you patience too," said Hender- 
son mildly, but firmly. " This here Ridolfo climbs 
down f'um his hawss — when he sees it's me — an' he 

embraces me " 

" And you have a drink." 

" That was right smart of yu to guess that." 

I heard the old man chuckling in the gloom beyond 
the dying embers, and I had now perforce to wait 
until he had his laugh out. 

" Go on," I said finally. " Time is money." 

'' Not for me," quoth Henderson. " Poquito a 
poco, hilaba la vieja el copo " — Little by little, the 
old woman spun the snowflake. " To come to the 
p'int briefly, Ridolfo says yes — he will come on up 
to the tent an' have another one on me. I had a 
small bottle o' rye hid away, which same was better'n 
his sotol he was carry 'n. ‘ What you doin' here, 

Ridolfo ? ' I ask him as we strolls up. ' I ? ' says 
Ridolfo. ' Why,' he says, ‘ I aim to raise a little 
corn, an' a little frijol — ^what Gawd gives us — Ojala 


184 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


He sends rain soon ' — he says — an' I got a few 
head o' cattle an' mewels, an' I marries the jefe 
politicoes daughter. I’m a bit well knowed 
hereabouts,' he says, ‘ so maybe I kin he’p yu if 
yo’re minin’ here,’ he says. 

“ ' Maybe yu can, Ridolfo,’ I tell him ; an' then 
I see Le Noir cornin' up the other way from the 
mine. ' That’s one o’ my pardners,’ I says. ' The 
other one’s lyin' down inside — he’s sick.’ Le Noir 
jest glances at Ridolfo, an’ goes on to the door of 
the tent. Somethin’s got his goat, seemin’ly, an' 
he's as mad as he can be. I see him a cussin' under 
his breath, an’ I hoped Ridolfo don’t think he’s 
cussin’ at him. I was ’bout three yards back 
o’ Le Noir when he opens the tent’s fly an’ looks 
in. I hear Carpenter say suthin’ I don’t quite 
catch. 

' Oh, you go you ,' 

says Le Noir, holdin’ on by the flaps o’ the fly with 
both hands an’ leanin’ in to the tent. He was ha’f 
lafiin' as he says it. 

I read in a book the other day ’bout two fellows 
who gets to quar’lin', an’ gets to shootin’. I guess 
the fellow who wrote that never seen real trouble, 
the way he had it put down. There ain’t much 
excitement in real trouble — leastways there wasn’t 
in Sonora in the days wharof I’m tellin’ ye. Le 
Noir says ” 

You needn’t repeat it,” I broke in hastily. 

'' Well, them’s his words, not mine. Then Car- 
penter gives a scream inside the tent, and Le Noir 
jumps back like he’s scared sudden. I notes how 
he ain’t got his gun on ; an’ I also notes how 
Ridolfo — who’s raised in them parts — is on his belly 


ENCINILLAS 


185 

by this time behind a rock. I'm slower'n a terrapin 
— as ye know — so I just stand there gappin' — ^an' 
‘ Bang ! ' goes Carpenter's pistol. 

Le Noir stiffens, an' I see he's cut. He ain't 
had time to dodge clear. ‘ Christ ! ' says Carpenter 
inside, bein' frightened now at what he's done. 

“ Le Noir sort o' ha'f turns, an' looks at me 
bhnd like. I seen he was cut bad — an' I was 
wantin' to catch the boy — but I'm slow, slow. 

Remember yo're promises,' I tell him; for he's 
lookin' like he's met big trouble somewhere. 

Le Noir don't answer. He walks over to me ; 
he pulls the gun out o' my scabbard ; he shoots 
twicet through the wall o' the tent ; an' he drops 
dead." 

" Did he get Carpenter ? " I asked presently. I 
had been trying to piece together the picture ; the 
barren, rocky hill-side with the blue Sierra for back- 
ground ; old Henderson, the tent, the rancher 0 ; 
and dead Le Noir with the reeking pistol in his 
hand. 

" He sure did," said Henderson. " In the head — 
both times. That's where Ridolfo becomes an Act 
o' God. If he'd not been there — him havin' political 
pull owin' to his marriage — I'd ha' got the reputa- 
tion o' havin' murdered them two boys. You see. 
Carpenter's shot plumb through the forehead, an' 
Le Noir's shot through the heart " 

" Le Noir — impossible. Henderson ! You told 
me he walked back three paces after he was 
struck ! " 

An* pulls the gun out o' my scabbard. I told 
yu he was a strong man. D'you suppose now that 
boy knew what he was a doin' ? I guess not 1 He'd 


i86 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


never ha' broke his promise to me that a-way. He 
kills Carpenter, the way Gawd meant, after he's 
dead. 

Anyhow," continued Henderson, that broke 
up my dealin's with the Encinillas. I got out o' 
there quick, an' Ridolfo fixed the jefe an' stopped 
folk from suspicioning there 'd been foul play — 
but I was sicker 'n a dawg ; for I liked Le 
Noir. 

'' I forget the name o' the fellow that took up 
the mine — ^but either he or the fellow he sells out 
to sells it agen to another man, an' he runs into 
bonanza an' sells to the fellow I'd first went to in 
Chihuahua for two hundred thousand pesos ; an' 
the fellow in Chihuahua sells to the man that drives 
the bubble waggon in El Paso for three hundred 
thousand — so he makes a good thing outen it. I 
been hikin' up an' down ever since, observin' the 
ways o' Gawd in the High Sierras, an' I have dis- 
covered other mines — but none like Encinillas. 

“ Now I was thinkin'," concluded Henderson, 

that maybe yu could turn that funny thing I 
seen Le Noir do at Encinillas into a story. Maybe 
they'd be inclined to disbelieve ye ; but yu just 
keep yo're temper, an' tell 'em how all they've got 
to do is to go to Casas Grandes. There's men there 
what's above lyin' for the fun o' the thing. Tell 
'em to ask them men if it ain't so a fellow shot 
another fellow out west o' that burg, after the 
fellow was dead himse'f. It would be about '92 
or '93 — I forget the year — one year's pretty much 
like another to me. If yu like to go out to the mine 
yu can see the two graves, alongside o' the grave o' 
another man what died later — fell down an' broke 


ENCINILLAS 187 

his neck when he was drunk. I been there since, 
once, to see Le Noir's grave.” 

Maybe I have salted the sample a bit — I ain't 
promisin' — but doubters can always go to Casas 
Grandes to inquire. 











THE FAITH OF HENDERSON 



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THE FAITH OF HENDERSON 


I T was no extraordinary thing to me, having 
been for years a nomad of the Mexican Sierras, 
that an old and dissolute prospector like 
Henderson should become theological in the dawn 
as he raked together the ashes of last night's fire. 

Havin' constructed," said he, “ such diverse 
things as that " — he nodded to where Venus hung, 
a ball of brilliant flame, in the crystal air — the 
timber, hawses, coffee, whisky, an' even the native 
Greaser, is it nateral ter suppose Gawd takes no 
interest ? Even," he continued, as the fresh chips 
of tarry pine crackled into life, and a reek of wood 
smoke permeated the sharp, resinous twilight of 
early morning, " when one's makin' a damn jackass 
of onese'f one takes interest in the product." 

" You talk in terms of the finite," I remonstrated. 
" And you in terms o' the tenderfoot. I say what 

I know. You think I ain't nothin' but an old 

of a prawspector that's laid around the moun- 
tains till he's clean daffy, an' you think how whisky 
an' women's the only two subjects engrosses the 
reasonin' functions o' my caheza. Maybe yo're 
partly right — I ain't sayin' I'm free from carnal 
yearnin's toward them things — ^but a man can't 
hit the trail as often an' as far as I've done an' not 
learn a bit. I thinks detached about Gawd, an' I 
see how He won't stand for some things." 

191 


192 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


Such as ? I inquired. 

Such as blasphemy an' deliberit wrongdoin'." 

“ Both of which you indulge in freely." 

ril take my chances. Actin' foolish and actin' 
mean is two different things. It ain't what a man 
does, but why he does it, that counts." 

Not in a court of law," I laughed. 

Henderson spat a few lurid remarks and reached 
for the bacon. 

It's the continued existence o' them lawyers," 
he said, '' keeps me believin' in a personal Devil. 
You don't get me at all. What I mean is the fellow 
who sets himse'f to buck Gawd is due to get broke. 
You says ‘Be damn ! There ain’t no Gawd,' and 
pretty pronto you find yorese'f thrown, an' thrown 
hard ; but admittin' there's some one holdin' the 
reins you find He makes allowance for nateral 
foolishness. Get that ? " 

" I thought I owed you some explanation," he 
continued, “ why I was so set on not goin' near 
that Rey de los Indios mine. There's a man there 
is what I calls deliberit bad. Figurin' the things 
Travers has done in the last forty year, I comes to 
the conclusion he's about reached the limit ; but 
figurin' on the — ^what's the word that Britisher 
used — ^personal factor, I felt a bit uncertain there 
mightn't be trouble if me and Travers met. Some 
men yaps everlastin' about their wrongs and griev- 
ances, an’ how they aims to take their vengeance, 
but I've grown out of that." 

"You live," I summarized, " in joyful anticipa- 
tion of seeing him soaked for you by Divine wrath." 

" Oh, pshaw ! What d'ye take me for ? I'm an 
old man. I just want not to be bothered. I main- 


THE FAITH OF HENDERSON 


193 


tains, however, things don't happen by accident. 
Bet you five dollars I prove it before we hit town 
— seein’ you're good enough to laff at what I'm 
tellin' ye." 

" What did Travers do to you ? " I inquired. 

Henderson's face clouded. 

" He did me dirt," he commented briefly. " Do 
you take my bet ? " 

I said I would on general principles. Picking a 
rope from the grass, my partner lurched off among 
the pine trunks to round up the horses. Presently 
the scandalized welkin heard how our vagarious 
pack mule had taken himself off — heaven knows 
where — in the night. 

" I guess I'd better go hunt the son of a gun 
myse'f," said Henderson, returning. " I'll be back 
some time next week at the latest, so you can amoose 
yourse'f in the meantime. So long ! " 

As such occurrences are common, I had long 
learned the value of philosophical resignation. I 
left Jose, the mozo, to wash the dishes and stretched 
out under a tree to wait for the return of the wanderer 

I think I must have fallen asleep, for when I was 
aroused by the patter of hoofs the sun was a good 
three hours above the horizon. My first, and most 
natural, supposition was that my partner had found 
the missing mule, but Jose's face showed me that 
I was mistaken. He was looking in the opposite 
direction to the route taken by Henderson, and his 
features were puckered in a scowl of sheer cold- 
blooded, vindictive hatred. 

" Quien viene " I inquired in some surprise. 

The scowl vanished at the sound of my voice, 
but his tone was sullen as he laconically answered : 


o 


194 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


Travers.’' 

I admit I was startled. I knew Henderson well 
enough to expect trouble should he return before I 
could get rid of the company of the man who had 
done him dirt,” my faith in the effectiveness of 
his belief as a controlling force being nil. Before 
I could form a plan of action, however, the manager 
of the Rey de los Indies had pulled up his horse — 
he rode alone, but, unlike young Lochinvar, far 
from unarmed, carrying the usual allowance of 
two ” forty-fives ” — and stood before me. 

He was a gross, fleshy individual with a wavering 
eye, but beneath the patent trade marks of dissipa- 
tion, one could still trace the remnants of superficial 
good looks. His worst characteristics were a chronic 
sneer and an irritating suggestion of bravado which 
radiated from his personality and tinged his every 
sentence. 

” Late getting a start on, ain’t ye ? ” he asked. 

” One of our animals got adrift in the night, and 
my partner is off hunting for it.” 

” Seems ye’d let your mozo do that — it’s his job,” 
grunted Mr. Travers. ” And you, Jose,” he con- 
tinued to the boy, ” attend to my horse.” 

” This senor is my patron now,” answered the 
boy with courteous discourtesy, and displaying not 
the slightest intention of obeying the order. 

” Loosen the girths of the horse and walk it till 
it cools off,” I ordered him. 

He rose at once, and Travers subsided, evidently 
appreciating the Mexican’s argument, little as he 
relished the snub. 

” Sassy son of a gun,” he grumbled. ” Used to 
work for me till he gets fresh about not wantin’ his 


THE FAITH OF HENDERSON 195 

sister to do the cookin' any more. Guess he learned 
who was boss that time though." 

" I find him willing enough," I said. I was more 
interested in trying to evolve some scheme to keep 
Henderson from appearing suddenly on the scene 
than in Jose and his sister ; though I venture to 
believe Jose was amply justified in his objections. 
Travers had a reputation in the neighbourhood 
which stank to heaven. " I suppose you are trying 
to reach the railroad to-night," I suggested, hoping 
against hope he would say he was. 

" Oh, no. I ain't hurryin' any." 

I groaned. Unless the mule had spent the night 
in a bee-line cross country gallop Henderson's 
return could not be long delayed. Scheme after 
scheme I evolved and discarded. Finally I decided 
it must be Kismet and resigned myself to expect 
the worst. 

" By the way," said Travers, breaking a silence 
which had lasted at least half an hour and during 
which I had felt most unutterably ill at ease, " who 
is your partner ? " 

A new hope sprang scintillating into my weary 
brain. " Perhaps," thought I, " like most brag- 
garts, the man is a coward at heart." I told him, 
and my heart leaped, for he started visibly. 

" What sort of lookin' fellow is he ? " he asked. 

" Short and stout. Grey eyes and a red mous- 
tache." 

My gleam of hope went out like a shuttered lamp, 
for he laughed. 

" Guess I know him," he remarked. " He'll be 
glad to see an old friend. I'll wait." 

In the course of the next half-hour I passed from 


196 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


a state of hoping for Henderson's non-arrival to a 
despairful desire to see him back and know the 
worst. During this period Travers regaled me with 
anecdotes selected from his past life, and I per- 
ceived that my partner had made no misstatement 
when he described him as being '' deliberit bad." 
A more depressing recital of commonplace villiany 
may I never have to suffer. His voice droned on 
from one unsavoury tale to another as if it would 
never cease ; the tethered beasts snorted in fitful 
impatience, the fire died to a faint glow, but still 
no sign of mule or man. 

" Maybe he heard I was here," remarked the 
stranger at last. I had snapped the case of my 
watch for the tenth or twelfth time, and my im- 
patience must have become obvious even to his 
self-centred mind. 

" He ain’t no valiente — Hen," he added, with his 
beastly sneer heavy on his features. " Now I come 
to think of it, there was a little matter between 


" Ya vienne — la mula,” announced Jose. 

"An’ blame my cats if there ain’t ol’ Hen a- 
followin’," growled Travers, as the missing animal 
cantered into the open. 

In the distance I saw Henderson pause and shade 
his eyes with one hand. 

" Seems kinder shy, don’t he ? " snarled Travers. 
His face had become even more sinister than 
Providence planned it in the first instance, and it 
took no keen perception on my part to see there 
was trouble afoot. He moved over to his horse and 
placed himself so that the beast stood between him 
and my partner — ^now approaching at a slow walk. 


THE FAITH OF HENDERSON 


197 

Hello, Hen ! he wheezed with assumed jocu- 
larity. 

“ Hello, Bill ! ” said Henderson. His tone was 
infinitely gentle, but his steady grey eye never 
left the other's face. “ I was hopin' not to meet 
you." 

Travers laughed — a. short, barking yap of a laugh. 

" I thought you seemed kinder shy. Why, there 
ain't nothin' to fear. Hen. I ain't goin' to hurt 
ye." 

" I guess not," replied Henderson broodingly. 
" Wouldn't make a heap o' difference if ye did 
figure that way." 

" Is that so ? " queried Travers, still strategically 
keeping his steed between himself and Henderson. 
" Well, that's as may be. There's my hand — shake." 

Henderson shook — ^his head . Travers 's face became 
bloated. The insult is a grievous one. 

They tell me yo're married to a Chicago girl 
now, Bill," meditatively announced Henderson. 

" What th' hell's that to you ? Shake, I say ! " 

" So Mary's dead ? " persisted my partner. 

That's so. Anything else ye'd like to know ? " 

" You lie ! " said Henderson with terrifying calm. 

“ Henderson ! " I called sharply. 

" Sir ? " he answered. This is the only time I 
ever knew Henderson to address me as " Sir." 

" I'd like to remind you that this is my camp." 

" I ain't forgettin' it." 

" But you're well on the way to. Furthermore, 
I have an idea you were laying me a bet " 

" That's so," he assented, adding with amazing 
simplicity and earnestness, " Gawd'll pay you, Bill. 
He don't stand for no such conduct as yours." 


198 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


High and mocking came the laughter of Travers. 

Gawd might overlook the fact ye can't hit a 
sittin' burro at two yards' range," he cackled. 

“ That's true," assented Henderson cheerfully. 
" I ain't much of a shot." 

Well, look here. Mister Hank Henderson " — 
this with a sudden gush of uncontrolled fury — " you 
called me a liar a minute agone." 

" I called you what you are. You're worse things 
than that, Bill, only I ain't sed them yet." 

I sat paralysed with funk. Travers's face turned 
an ugly bluish tint, then flushed to crimson. 

You , you'll take that back," he 

gasped. 

Bill Travers, you hound " — I wish cold type 
could reproduce half the caressing sound he gave the 
insulting word — you know me better than that. 
Let me pass. I ain't lookin' for no trouble with 
you." 

"You mayn't be lookin', but you shore finds 
it," screamed Travers. " Apologize — by God ! — 
or " 

I was on my feet as his hand went to his belt, but 
I was too late. I remember the blue flash of a pistol 
barrel — ^two sharp clicks and a deafening report. 
With singing ears I turned away in an unconscious 
effort to avoid the full horror of the tragedy. 

As I turned I heard the thud of a limp-falling 
body. 

Then rage mastered fear. Shame overcame 
horror, and still moving on the spur of impulses 
outside my own volition I whirled on the aggressor 
and drew. 

The " gun " fell unused from my hand. I could 


THE FAITH OF HENDERSON 


199 


hardly believe my eyes, but there before me I saw 
Henderson — Henderson sitting in the same attitude, 
as motionless as the gentle horse beneath him. He 
seemed unconscious of his near approach to death, 
his forehead was wrinkled with childish wonder, 
and at his horse’s hoofs lay the body of his would- 
be slayer. 

Did you ever,” he asked, apparently addressing 
himself to the horizon, ” know a * forty-five ’ to miss 
fire twice runnin’ ? ” 

” I don’t understand,” I gasped. 

” Travers’s gun misses fire twicet.” 

“ And you ? ” 

” Maybe I’d a shot if I’d tho’t to, but I hadn’t 
time.” 

He drew his ” gun ” from the holster and handed 
it over. It held five rounds, and the hammer was 
snapped on an empty chamber, not on a spent 
cartridge. 

A new terror seized me. In my excited state I 
half expected to find that Travers had been struck 
down by some miraculous agency outside human 
ken. But the shot ! I had certainly heard at least 
one ! 

My partner read my unspoken thought and smiled 
grimly. Following his gaze I saw a swift -running 
figure in blue overalls about a quarter of a mile 
up the trail. 

It was Jos6. 

” Let him go,” quoth Henderson. “ I guess he 
had his reasons. Unless yo’re anxious to sample the 
interior of a Mexican jail. Us for the U.S.A. ? And 
I guess,” he added with a smile, ” I win that bet.” 


1 


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A WARM CORNER IN MEXICO 


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A WARM CORNER IN MEXICO 


I N the southern part of the state of Chihuahua, 
Mexico, lies a mining town called Parral. 
The railway mentioned runs north-west to 
south-east across the central tableland, from El 
Paso, Texas, to the City of Mexico. Half-way from 
Jiminez to El Paso — a total distance of close on 
four hundred miles — ^is Chihuahua, capital of the 
state ; to the south lies Torreon, and ninety kilo- 
meters to the west on a spur track is Hidalgo del 
Parral. 

The name Parral signifies a thicket of wild vines ; 
but the vines were probably cleared away by the 
eager prospectors who flocked to the district in 
1600. To-day the picturesque old city nestles in 
the tawny bosom of its native hills, the only touches 
of greenery, save during summer rains, being those 
bestowed by the cotton woods along the river bed 
and the groves of the public plazas. 

Two years ago this city of some twelve or thirteen 
thousand inhabitants was one of the most alluring 
localities in the country. Although but a few 
hundred miles north of the Tropic of Cancer, latitude 
and altitude are so balanced as to result in the 
production of a climate little short of ideal, and at 
an elevation of between five and six thousand feet 
the domed belfries of the churches and the rugged 
crests of the everlasting hills swim in the sempiternal 
203 


204 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


sunshine which is Mexico. In those bygone days the 
visitor, roving the narrow tortuous streets, could 
not fail to note the unobtrusive little gendarme on 
each corner ; nor could he go very far without 
running into the somnolent victims of the law, list- 
lessly cleansing the highway of the litter of an 
unthinking population. It was not until police 
and prisoners had been swept away that one realized 
what these things stood for — so detached and dreamy 
and unpractical did they appear. 

Parral claims that it was the last town to surrender 
to Diaz in 1876. In November, 1910, it was the 
first to rise against him. The rebels, on the latter 
occasion, were driven out of the city ; but on the 
20th of May the small Federal garrison withdrew, 
and the militant supporters of Madero were accorded 
an enthusiastic reception by a population which 
was — as the departing general bitterly remarked — 
“ Maderist to the very dogs in the street.'' From 
that day the change became apparent, and the state 
of affairs grew steadily worse until even the most 
enthusiastic began to comprehend that it is one 
thing to upset established order and quite another 
to re-estabhsh order in its place. 

Hopeful they, of course, continued. Nobody can 
accuse the citizens of the Latin Americans of pessim- 
ism, so long as present necessities are supplied ; but 
the old sense of security was gone, and robbery and 
violence daily became more frequent as the criminal 
element realized the impotence of the new authori- 
ties to cope with it. Added to this was another 
serious danger : owing to an excess of idealism in 
the character of the new ruler the revolutionary 
troops were permitted to retain their arms, with 


A WARM CORNER IN MEXICO 205 

the idea that they would be available to assist the 
defeated regular army in maintaining order ; but 
with the actual result that many of them continued 
on a career of brigandage, making their excuse in 
local injustices which the new executive had not 
had the beginning of the time to remedy. The re- 
mainder, ill-disciplined and unruly, constituted a 
continual menace. 

There was always the feeling, however, that this 
state of affairs might be only a transient after-effect 
of the short civil strife which drove Diaz from the 
country, leaving the presidential chair vacant for 
the victorious Madero, duly elected thereto in 
October, 1911. Hugging this hope, and stimulated 
by a rising silver market and a firm faith in the 
future of the district, the numerous foreign com- 
panies operating therein forged stolidly ahead with 
the work of developing mineral riches which three 
centuries of exploitation have left unexhausted. 
But the town was not the place it used to be, and 
its changed atmosphere was ominously suggestive 
of the disturbed pohtical state. 

Gone were the policemen with their blue uniforms, 
leather spats, and the white covered kepis which 
contrasted so strongly with their round brown faces, 
gone was the sweeper-gang from the now refuse- 
littered streets, gone was the evening concert on 
the plaza of other days ; and, although the sun 
shone and the loafers loafed as of yore, smoking 
the omnipresent cigarette in every available patch 
of shade, in the faces, actions, and conversation of 
the more responsible minority was a vague unrest. 
One could not but feel the depressing presence of 
the ponderous Query ? hanging like a thunder- 


206 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


cloud above the business prospects of the 
country. 

In the early spring of 1912, the cloud burst ; and 
by March the country was seething anew with revolt. 

The state of Chihuahua, according to the agree- 
ment which terminated the first revolution, had been 
garrisoned entirely with ex-revolutionary troops ; 
and the leaders of these, with one exception, turned 
over to the new revolutionary party. Juarez, the 
port of entry from El Paso, was the first to go, and 
Chihuahua City followed, the leadership of the 
mutineers being taken by Pascual Orozco, Madero’s 

general '' in command. 

The solitary loyalist was “ Colonel Francisco 
Villa, who at the commencement of the trouble 
found himself in the vicinity of Chihuahua with a 
small body of less than one hundred men. This 
man Villa was at one time a fairly prosperous 
freighter in a mountain village ; but a short and 
stirring drama, in which Villa himself, his sister, 
the jefe politico, or mayor, of the village, and the 
mayor’s brother were the leading performers, left 
the jefe and the jefe*s brother in the village cemetery 
and Villa a fugitive from the law — I will not say 
from justice. For seven years he throve as a high- 
wayman. 

No man, however, be his hardihood ever so great, 
cares to live a hunted life for ever ; and the outbreak 
of the Madero revolution provided opportunity for 
an honourable return to the paths of respectability. 
Accordingly, Francisco joined the then insurgents, 
and whatever his past career his worst enemies 
cannot deny the fidelity with which he has main- 
tained his cause ever since. 


A WARM CORNER IN MEXICO 207 

The situation then was as follows : to the north 
the new revolutionary party — self-styled " Oroz- 
quist — held the country from the United States 
line to Chihuahua, Villa having fallen back from 
that city after a skirmish with Orozco and estab- 
lished himself at a small town called Zaragoza. 
To the south the Federal soldiers were in possession 
of Torreon but unable to advance until reinforce- 
ments should arrive ; and half-way between the 
two sat Parral trying to make up its mind to which 
party it might belong. The result of this indecision 
was that the town found itself cut off from railway 
communication with either point ; for the bridges 
were burned to north and south, and neither side 
was likely to reopen the connections with a place of 
doubtful loyalty. To the south-west, in the wilder 
parts of the State of Durango, the country was in 
a ferment, and refugees from the mountain mining 
camps were coming in daily. A disturbing feature 
of this revolution was that the rights of foreigners 
were not being respected as in that previous. 

What made it appear pretty certain that Parral 
was going to attract attention was that the general 
in command of the small garrison of irregulars had 
recently received a large consignment of new Mauser 
rifles and ammunition, towards which commodities 
both parties turned yearning eyes. The general, 
however, sat resolutely on the fence, and no man 
could predict on which side he would ultimately 
descend. Cut off from communication with the 
outside world the unfortunate foreigner struggled 
on with his business if he could, or closed down 
when compelled to, awaiting the issue with as much 
patience as he had to command. The native, 


208 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


having less business interest and more patience, 
faced the situation with an enviable calm. 

Presently, on the twelfth of March, was heard 
the voice of “ Pancho Villa crying in the wilder- 
ness. He was determined to uphold the constituted 
government, it was untrue he had any intent to 
loot such as his enemies gave him credit for — and 
would the general be so kind as to permit him to 
enter Parral and join forces ? 

The general at once commenced to fortify the 
Cerro de la Cruz — Hill of the Cross — overlooking 
the town. It became common knowledge that 
Villa was about to attack us with one hundred, with 
two hundred, with a thousand men ; and that 
victory on his part would inevitably precede sack 
and outrage. 

Despite rumour, however. Villa failed to material- 
ize. As a matter of fact, his forces at the time did 
not amount to more than about seventy men ; and 
the idea of his attempting to carry a position held 
by a garrison of three or four hundred was nothing 
short of preposterous. Instead, he repaired to a 
place known as La Boquilla — ^the dam site of the 
Mexican Northern Power Co. Ltd., which he held 
for three days, and whence he was only dislodged 
at the tail end of a stiff fight against a force numeric- 
ally superior to his own in the proportion of three 
to one. The honours of the day were undoubtedly 
with Pancho in this battle ; and the rebels 
began to perceive that issuing proclamations brand- 
ing him as a bandit, and an enemy of society in 
general, did not get over the painful fact that the 
ex-highwayman was a stubborn and determined 
fighter and a strategist of no mean ability. 


A WARM CORNER IN MEXICO 


209 


His position at the time was not an enviable one 
nevertheless. The only place where he could obtain 
the much needed supplies for his ragged band of 
fighters was Parral, and daily it became more evident 
that Parral was about to renounce allegiance to the 
government. The policy pursued by the general 
in charge left small room for doubt as to his inten- 
tions, and the opposing forces being already in 
loose contact around Jiminez a decision one way or 
another became inevitable. 

On Monday, March the 25th, the general made up 
his mind. Apparently he sent a telegram to Orozco 
intimating his desire to ally himself with that 
gentleman but expressing doubt as to the temper 
of garrison and population ; accordingly, he added 
a request for reinforcements sufficient to hold '' 
the town — and, unfortunately, some one saw the 
message. 

Those who have not lived in such countries as 
Mexico can never properly grasp the full horror of 
the general's sin as it would appear to the people of 
the city. In the first place he had compromised 
both citizens and garrison — all local men — ^with the 
revolutionaries who would be prompt to avenge. 
But far worse was the second indictment : he had 
deliberately paved the way for the entry of armed 
parties from other parts of the country ; strangers 
who would rejoice in the God-given opportunity to 
steal far from the cold eye of public opinion at home 
— perhaps even men from another state. 

The train came in from Jiminez that fateful 
Monday, and with it came an Orozquist officer to 
confer with the general. Alas, the general was no 
longer master of his own destiny. 


p 


210 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


The officer also they cast into prison ; whilst the 
train steamed off again to burn the culverts to the 
east, heedless of the cries of the abandoned American 
conductor spurning the ballast in hopeless pursuit. 
And without more ado Francisco Villa entered 
Parral and bundled the defaulter overland to 
Mexico City under close arrest. 

On Tuesday morning, despite the dark forebod- 
ings of the peaceful citizens, the town still looked 
much the same as ever. The dreadful bandit was 
in power ; but the only changes noticeable were 
that all bars were closed and a mushroom police 
force patrolled the streets of what the Americans 
designate a dry town.'* What the new policemen 
lacked in uniformity of appearance they made up 
for in efficiency. 

Yet the townspeople were far from happy. The 
men who caused the arrest of the general and in- 
vited ViUa in were Parral men, and at the moment 
Parral lauded their action ; now that the deed was 
done it suddenly occurred to many worthy souls 
that his presence would inevitably result in a battle 
in the vicinity — if not in the town itself. Faces fell 
and the names of the popular heroes of yesterday 
became anathema with surprising suddenness. 

But the wail that then arose was in depth, sin- 
cerity and whole-heartedness entirely eclipsed by 
that of a few days later, when Villa coolly levied a 
forced loan of £25,000. In his defence it is only fair 
to mention that a fifth of this sum was money 
deposited in the Banco Minero for the use of the 
other party, the balance being collected from the 
more wealthy residents. Furthermore, he probably 
understood that what he did not take Orozco would 


A WARM CORNER IN MEXICO 21 1 


should the town have to be abandoned. All the 
same, the proceeding was a little irregular. 

Apart from this, his conduct and that of his men 
was irreproachable. No liquor was sold during the 
ten days he held the town, the place was well 
policed, and he even went to the length of outfitting 
part of his troops in some sort of uniform so as to 
be easily recognisable. Vigorous recruiting and the 
seizure of arms and ammunition before noticed 
quickly raised his force to four or five hundred well 
armed men ; and so strong did his position seem 
that many began to hope the rebels would find 
enough worry on their hands with the advancing 
Federals south of Jiminez. 

Even when late in the evening of the following 
Monday — April ist — scouts announced the presence 
of a party of the enemy to the south-east there were 
some who scoffed. Others openly stated that Villa 
would not attempt to hold the place, should an 
attack be delivered, having achieved the main 
object of his visit in raising the twenty-five thousand 
of which the extraction had caused so much pain. 

This was on Monday evening. At 3.50 a.m. the 
prophets had their prophecies cast in their teeth by 
the staccato stutter of a Colt Rapid Fire on the 
Cerro de la Cruz. In sequence came the sudden 
crackle of the Mausers, the gruff voice of a field 
piece coughing in the raw morning air and the 
following blast of shrapnel. Three times the gun 
spoke and then fell silent ; ■ but the rifles whacked 
and roared, now with the noise of breaking sticks, 
anon concerting in the crash of > volleys, until the 
sunrise. Then the tumult gradually died to a 
dwindling sound of popping corks and the town 


212 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


knew that the enemy had come and gone. “ Pancho ” 
was living up to his reputation. 

It was a brisk little battle while it lasted. 
“ General Campa had come all the way from 
Jiminez to take Parral with nine hundred men ; 
and had it not been for the steadiness of a small 
picked band in the parapets which crowned the 
Cerro — ^the same which were constructed to keep 
Villa out — ^it looks as if they might have accom- 
plished their purpose. As it was, the mortar they 
brought to shell the town was rushed up too close 
to the breastworks ; and although the defenders* 
Colt jammed at the first few shots the sweeping 
cross-fire of the Mausers laid the gunner desperately 
wounded across the trail. Two more of the crew 
were killed before they had time to reach cover. 
The remainder seem to have bolted. 

Five hundred yards or so along the ridge is the 
patio of the Europa Mine ; and here the attackers 
suffered even more. Four dead horses lay on the 
patio itself, the artillery officer was stretched stark 
and cold beside the abandoned shelters of the 
riflemen, and the declivity beyond was stained with 
maroon splashes where a fifth horse and two more 
wretched mortals had tried to drag shattered bodies 
beyond the zone of danger. A flanking party worked 
round from the last, and the Jimenez trail bore the 
evidences of the accuracy of their fire and the 
precipitate nature of the flight. 

Besides eight or nine of the enemy who had 
passed beyond the marches of mundane politics 
twenty to thirty prisoners, many of them wounded, 
were gathered in and lodged in the municipal jail. 
A grand haul of ninety horses in good condition, a 


A WARM CORNER IN MEXICO 213 

Mondragon 80 mm. mountain mortar, with forty 
rounds of shrapnel, and several stacks of small 
arms added to the satisfaction of the victors. Fight- 
ing continued in a desultory manner during the day 
between the defenders and scattered bodies of the 
enemy who found their retreat cut off, but the 
deciding battle was really over by nine o’clock in the 
morning. 

On Wednesday perfect peace reigned on all the 
country-side. Even the wind neglected to blow, 
and the throb of a mine pump on the flanks of the 
Cerro came so clearly on the still air that it sounded 
like the heart of Parral sleeping off the effects of 
Tuesday’s debauch. That pump voiced the higher 
courage of the twentieth century, for the steady 
beat was heard during the lulls in the firing of the 
day before ; the middle ages might rise around it in 
battle, murder and sudden death, but it had a job 
to do and, as the Yankee idiom runs, it was “ on 
its way.” 

Thursday saw the curtain rung up on the last 
act. Early in the afternoon came the news that a 
train was approaching the station of Morita, just 
beyond the burned culverts ; and those who had 
no better occupation climbed the Cerro to see. Far 
in the distance rose the smoke of two engines, and 
from these swarms of ant -like creatures radiated 
across the brown fields. Ten or fifteen men and the 
Colt manned the rifle-pits on the hill. About a 
hundred yards to the rear, on the highest point 
and behind the original parapet, were five or six 
more with the captured mortar. The rest of Villa’s 
forces were disposed in advanced positions without 
the city. 


214 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


For Mexican irregulars they were an unusually 
efficient looking group, this handful on the Cerro. 
The leaders were two American filibusters, both 
seasoned men ; the remainder were silent and free 
from the taint of bravo, which forms part of the 
stock-in-trade of the native “ patriot/' Some spoke 
a little English and one was an ex-soldier of the 
United States Army. This man had the appearance 
of a half-breed. They were men of the Border ; 
not perhaps desirable citizens in time of peace, 
but useful in these emergencies when properly 
led. 

At half-past two, whilst the enemy were still 
deploying to the north, a sound of firing arose to 
eastward, gaining in volume so rapidly as to make it 
certain that a large force were attacking. Whilst 
the available field-glasses were turned in this direc- 
tion the hills to the north-west joined the chorus, 
and we knew that Villa and the enemy were once 
more at grips. 

About three o'clock the mortar came into play. 
The first shell threw a cloud of dust some two 
hundred yards beyond the advancing swarm ; the 
second and third burst in the air without apparent 
effect. 

The fourth shot was a hit. Right in the centre 
leapt the red flash, and, when the dun cloud of the 
explosion had cleared, two black dots marked the 
centre of a widening circle as the rest scattered. 
Somebody had dropped a pebble, killed two of the 
ants, and the rest were running about in high 
excitement. Apparently some one whistled through 
his teeth and a little cloud jumped from the baked 
ground near the gun. The men took the hint. 


A WARM CORNER IN MEXICO 215 

glanced at the wisp of dust comprehendingly, and 
slipped under cover. 

Closer and closer crept the noisy battle, but from 
the hill the only response was the intermittent bark 
of the field piece and the windy cadence of the 
missiles as they whirled over the heads of those in 
the advanced trenches ; although by now the low- 
voiced bullets were whispering on every side. 
Spectators began to leave and drop down into the 
town ; for it is not advisable that foreigners should 
be seen with those of either party during a revolu- 
tion. A few allowed curiosity to overcome sense 
of responsibility and tarried over long, with the result 
that some remarkably fine sprinting was done in 
the neighbourhood of five o'clock. The hill-sides 
are very bare and the '' Liberals " were shooting 
at anything moving. 

As the last non-combatants dropped off the hill 
the rifles of the defenders woke to angry protest, 
but the intensity and volume of the answering fire 
omened badly. Out on the hills men were crouching 
and running from cover to cover, firing as occasion 
offered, but ever retreating before the overwhelming 
force of their opponents. Down in the town the 
watchers gathered anxiously in the portals of the 
houses, listening to the turmoil and nervously 
awaiting the issue. Nothing could be seen ; but 
nearer every minute drew the fight. 

Presently came men on foot with rifles, travelling 
in little detached bunches of two or three. They 
were weary and sweating, but they pushed on at a 
half trot, looking neither to right nor left and wasting 
no breath in idle conversation. Only on the Cerro 
were the defending force holding their ground, and 


2I6 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


the report was that Villa himself had left by this 
time. 

Just at dark the last man wearing the red, white, 
and green ribbon of the government on his arm 
passed through, and the cry of “ Orozco ** was heard 
on the outskirts of the city. Just at dark a bugle 
sang and the Cerro de la Cruz became momentarily 
alive with running figures, as, at the eleventh 
hour, the gallant few on top abandoned the hopeless 
defence. Too late to get clear away, they were 
forced to head into the town, losing their gun and 
horses, but not, as the sequel shows, their determina- 
te inflict the maximum of harm on the enemy before 
quitting the struggle. 

Down into the streets poured a rabble of two 
thousand maddened and, in most cases, intoxicated 
men. They had suffered in the attack and all the 
innate vindictiveness of Indian blood came to the 
surface. As the first rush passed the portal of a 
house at the end of San Francisco Street, a stupid 
servant opened the door and looked out. His red 
shirt caught the eyes of the oncoming rebels and 
without hesitation they opened fire on him as they 
ran. This idiot immediately darted outside and 
fled, and the owner had to run out to close his door 
under a heavy fire. No questions were asked and 
only the mad impulses of drink-crazed minds were 
obeyed. This may sound strange, but it is un- 
deniable that many of the rebels came into town 
drunk. They must have adopted this means to 
spur their faltering courage. 

Two natives of good family who were looked upon 
as men of some position were dragged from their 
home and brutally murdered. Both were of blame- 


A WARM CORNER IN MEXICO 217 

less character and, as a matter of fact, were sup- 
posed to be rather in favour of Orozco. How many 
innocent persons of humbler station perished in the 
streets it is impossible to say. 

The clangour and turmoil were appalling. Guns 
had been brought into the city and were busy shelling 
the vacated Cerro ; and to these were added the 
noise of dynamite as the patriots '' located the 
banks, and the jangle of the Cathedral bells. Shops 
were looted without regard to the nationality of the 
owners, and for a time the foreigners stood in grave 
danger of a massacre. This was averted, in all 
probability, by the superior attractions afforded by 
the looting, always bearing in mind that the Grin- 
gos had a certain amount of arms and ammunition 
and might turn nasty should one carry the fun to 
the point of cutting throats. 

In the midst of this excitement a damper was cast 
on the proceedings by the discovery that the pesti- 
lential Cerro men were still in the town. The first 
intimation was a hail of lead from housetops in the 
centre, and not till quite a few had fallen did the 
victors succeed in dislodging them. No fair-minded 
person can blame the plucky Maderists for continuing 
the fight, yet their so doing was unfortunate for the 
townspeople ; for the Liberals became alarmed and 
took to shooting into any house they imagined 
might shelter the enemy. In one case a distracted 
citizen sought the leader of this mob and prayed 
that he might have a guard to protect his home and 
family. He was detailed one drunken peon whose 
first act on reaching the house was to squib off his 
rifle in the air. In a minute the street front was 
riddled ; and the family, accompanied by the now 


2i8 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


thoroughly scared sentry, had to escape over the 
roofs of the houses. 

Gradually, however, the noise diminished, and 
presently occasional scattered shots only showed 
where some wandering “ drunk '' was celebrating 
in the usual manner. There were also cases of 
exasperated officers shooting their own men for 
attempting to break into liquor selling establish- 
ments to obtain fresh supplies. The looting con- 
tinued nevertheless, and all night long watchers at the 
shutters of the houses saw men with rifles in their 
hands and bundles of merchandise on their backs 
staggering along the streets. Both electric light 
and the telephone service kept going, for which not 
a little honour is due to the employ^ of the com- 
pany. 

Mercaderes Street and the thoroughfares which 
lead to the main plaza of Parral as they appeared 
on the morning of Friday, April the 5th, afforded a 
remarkable contrast to the eyes of one who had 
known them in the halcyon days of yore. Where 
had been the show windows of the merchants 
nothing met the eye but blank spaces roughly 
shuttered with boards, the powdered fragments of 
plate-glass and the litter of wrapping paper and 
cardboard boxes strewing the pavement bearing 
silent witness to the respect which the flags of Spain, 
of Germany and of the United States had engendered. 
That no British place of business was touched was 
due to the non-existence of such. The only Union 
Flag in the town floated over a private residence, 
and a hot discussion as to its significance took place 
on the doorstep. One speaker proclaimed it a 
tricolour and consequently a sure sign that Maderists 


A WARM CORNER IN MEXICO 219 

were hiding within — the logic of supposing they 
would hang their colours over their place of con- 
cealment would present no obstacles to the peon — 
but another, better informed, explained that the 
banner appertained to some red Africans of the 
south,” and having recollected that green and not 
blue was the third colour of their own national 
emblem, neither was it '' rayed,” the meeting 
broke up. 

Along the street, some mounted and some on 
foot, drifted the amazing soldiers of the revolution. 
The majority seemed to be more or less drunk still, 
and strangers walked abroad with their lives in 
their hands. One American was shot and severely 
wounded by some lunatic and more than one was 
threatened. It developed that the invaders were 
possessed of the notion that the foreigners had been 
helping Villa and they felt vicious in consequence. 
The general in command was angry and uneasy at 
the extent of the damage done, seemed inclined to 
saddle the blame on others if possible, and so did 
nothing to dispel the idea. In fact, an attempt was 
made to coerce us into giving up arms. The firmness 
and diplomacy of the American Consular Agent 
averted this. 

About nine or ten o'clock a diversion was caused. 
A burst of musketry in the centre of the town 
announced that a few of the defenders of the Cerro 
were still with us and were making their presence 
obnoxiously felt. The excitement was tremendous 
for a time ; but the stubborn band finally retired 
under cover of their own fire, and the government's 
withdrawal from the city was at last completed. 

The fighting now definitely over, a slightly better 


220 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


order was gradually established. The majority of 
the invaders — and a handsome bunch of scallywags 
they were — were shipped off out of the way. 
Affairs seemed to be taking a critical turn at Jiminez 
and men were needed to take part in the expected 
battle. Artillery which had been brought in during, 
and immediately after, the storm was shipped back, 
and only a moderate-sized garrison was left. 

There seemed to be no inclination to pursue Villa. 

On Sunday, April the 7th, one of the American 
filohisteros who had helped to hold the Cerro was 
discovered concealed in a private house. The 
general took a chance with Washington, and on 
Tuesday morning the prisoner was shot despite the 
efforts of his consul who worked untiringly to con- 
vince the savage general that the man was at least 
entitled to treatment in accordance with the usages 
of civilized warfare. His comrade, who likewise 
was concealed in the town, made his escape disguised 
in woman's clothes, and after walking three days 
across country without food and with three broken 
ribs he finally reached a place of safety. 

Most of the business normally carried on in the 
town naturally came to a standstill, and in conse- 
quence the majority of the foreign population, and 
many natives, left on the first train the new authori- 
ties allowed to carry passengers. With them went 
the vTiter. 

Some day, no doubt, Parral will recover. It will 
take time, for the banks were cleared out and one 
of them was burned to the ground ; but nevertheless 
the day must come when civilization will creep back 
to its own. Then there will be music in the plaza 
at night once more, the police will sun themselves 


A WARM CORNER IN MEXICO 221 


by day and slumber over their lanterns by night, 
and the well-to-do citizen who hid in his cellar — or 
perchance shot at the Maderists from behind, as at 
least one miscreant did — during the attack, will 
once more look down on the telephone exchange 
operator who stuck to his dangerous post through 
the thick of it. The tourist from the States will 
remark : “ Why, there can't be any harm in them 
people ; they look such sleepy old things." 


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THE CASTING VOTE 


THE CASTING VOTE 


I N a dun-coloured sea of tumbled hills the 
gallows frame of the shaft and the little 
iron-roofed engine-house stood out infinitely 
small and lonely. One looked twice before dis- 
covering whence emanated the sighing cough of 
the gasoline hoist. The landscape was so spacious 
and so miraculously clear. It gave a sense of the 
littleness of mankind and mankind's vaunted pro- 
gress. The engine-house and derrick failed even to 
intrude on the majesty of the endlessly rolling 
hills. 

Suddenly the engine stopped — abruptly. Far 
up on the mountain-side a woman — a rather pale, 
rather interesting appearing, petulantly pretty- 
looking woman, in a straw hat and khaki-coloured 
divided skirt — ^reined in a grey horse and shaded 
anxious eyes against the glare. She was only waiting 
to see the tiny figure she looked for step from the 
rim of the big iron bucket — ^step from the swinging 
bucket to good solid earth — ^and then she would 
ride off home, over the divide and down the other 
side of the mountain, laughing at her own 
too vivid imagination. Nobody would be a bit 
the wiser. 

A fragment of earth detached itself and rolled 
across the trail. She could hear the breathing of 
her horse — almost could she hear the breathing of all 
225 


Q 


226 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


the living world. The stillness — ^now that the engine 
had stopped — ^was as vast as the sun-bathed land 
itself. 

'' My God ! '' said the woman, and clenched her 
little hands with spasmodic nervousness. '' Ah, 
Bud, dear, yeh wouldn't — — Guess suthin’s up 
with the hoist," she added, to comfort herself. 

There was no sign of man or bucket. Therefore 
her husband yet swung somewhere in the depths of 
the shaft. The air was so clear that she could 
discern the small rectangle of shade at the pit's 
mouth. She could almost see the rope. 

Suddenly a minute, blue-clad figure emerged from 
the engine-house and crossed to the shaft -head. 
With a moan of apprehension the woman drove the 
spurs into the horse's flanks. 

It was the engine that did it. When Henniker 
rode out with John Behring in the morning to 
inspect the old Hawk West shaft there was no man 
in Arizona he would more gladly have seen dead. 
But there was likewise no man in Arizona less likely 
to infringe the prerogatives of the Almighty than 
Bud Henniker. He was a mild-mannered man, not 
given to vie lent passions, serenely conscious of his 
own bodily and mental strength, and consequently 
good-natured. 

The trouble was that he had been in love with 
Mrs. Behring for many years before she became 
Mrs. Behring. He had suffered the rejection of his 
suit and the triumph of his rival without rancour 
— supposing it made for her greater happiness. 
But he had not looked for subsequent develop- 
ments, 


THE CASTING VOTE 


227 


Subsequent developments ? A voice on the sum- 
mer night — frame houses have thin walls — and a 
sobbing cry, ‘'Ah, Bud never would ha' treated 
me so ! " There was also an ugly sound, not unlike 
that of a blow ; and there had been gossip flying 
in the little mining town. Bud had gone to the door, 
in his undecided, bashful way, and knocked ; and 
Mrs. Behring had said that he was mistaken — ^there 
was nothing the matter. 

It took Bud a week to come to the conclusion 
that Mrs. Behring had lied to him ; and for another 
week his slow brain had ground upon the problem. 
It was incredible that such things should be ! 
Would not he. Bud Henniker, and the strongest 
man in the camp, gladly suffer Mrs. Behring to beat 
him — ^with a club — ^ten times a day if she felt like 
it, and never dream of retaliating. And yet this 
Behring galoot . 

It was equally incredible that such things should 
continue. 

Yet the simple and direct methods were not 
available. Arizona juries are lenient to the man- 
slayer, especially when the late lamented stands 
convicted of discourtesy to the fair ; and small 
difference would it have made if they were not. 
But Bud's instinct told him that the deliberate 
immolation of her spouse by a friend such as 
himself would be more distasteful to Kate Behring 
than his continued existence. 

And then, whilst Bud puzzled and lay awake at 
nights on the problem, the general manager had 
ordered Behring to start work again in the old 
Hawk West. This was a shaft on an isolated and 
most unhopeful vein several miles of camp ; a 


228 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


lonely and abandoned shaft where the coyotes stole 
up to stare at the silent engine, and the basking 
rattlesnake sunned itself on the rusty turnsheets. 
There was no ladderway down this place — ^this I 
believe is illegal, but, strangely, it was so — where- 
fore Behring had shipped out a can or two of gasoline, 
and the following morning rode forth with his 
master-mechanic, one Bud Henniker, to overlook 
and overhaul. 

And now Behring was in the shaft — and — and 
there was no ladderway — and — and the further 
wallplate of the collar was badly sprung. 

It ain’t too safe — ^that timber,” Bud had re- 
marked as the superintendent stepped on to the 
edge of the open bucket preparatory to descending. 
” It’s just loose fill an’ boulders behind it. Maybe 
it’d be wiser to fix that before ” 

” Make the contractors fix it, then,” said Behring. 
'' I ain’t ridden seven miles an’ wasted half a day to 
turn back for a thing like that.” 

So Bud slackened the brakes, and let him 
down three hundred feet to the bottom of the 
shaft. 

Whilst he was below Bud had time to think — he 
always needed time to think. From behind the 
drum of the little engine he could see — for the shed 
was open in front — ^the spidery legs of the ” gallows 
frame,” the thin black line of the wire rope dis- 
appearing down the mouth of the pit, and the 
loosened wallplate beyond, all sunlit, all startling 
clear. 

It’d be Gawd’s Providence,” said Bud, 
- if 

” Clank ! ” went the iron bar that served as a 


THE CASTING VOTE 


229 

signal bell. Clank ! Clank ! '' Behring was 
coming up again. 

It'd be Gawd's Providence," repeated Bud 
moodily, his eyes still on the wallplate along which 
a venturesome lizard had run, to lie basking in the 
warmth. Shaking his sorely perplexed head, he 
tentatively opened the throttle. Again the bar 
banged indignantly. Behring was getting impatient. 

Bud stepped round the engine and threw his 
weight on the flywheel. With a jerk the machinery 
started. " Cough ! — hah ! Cough ! — hah ! Cough ! 
— hah ! Hah ! Hah ! Cough ! " hawked the ex- 
haust. Bud waited until she had gathered speed a 
bit, and over went the clutch. The drum began to 
revolve, grumbling sulkily to itself about having to 
work in such sultry weather. 

You who have laboured on the night shift, droop- 
ing drowsily amidst whirling shafting and squeaking 
belts, must at one time or another have heard the 
machinery say unexpected things. Maybe some 
little bearing gets cantankerous for want of lubri- 
cant, or a belt -lacing is not quite right, but in any 
case something somewhere chips in and disturbs 
the harmony with original remarks — often mimick- 
ing a well-known voice, the better to call your 
attention. I think this must have happened in 
Bud's engine-house ; for, although the event trans- 
pired in the daytime — the blinding, bright daytime 
of Arizona in which distant rocks and hills stand 
out like stereoscopic views — his mind was not at 
ease. 

At first all went smoothly. " Gawd's Providence," 
rumbled the drum. " (Hot Day !) Gawd's Provi- 
dence I Gawd's Providence ! (Hot Day !) " and 


230 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


Hah ! Hah ! Hah ! Cough ! fussed the im- 
patient exhaust, as if it alone was doing all the work. 
Bud half closed his eyes. It was working out very 
nicely, and his mind was nearly made up. Nothin' 
doin'." In a minute Behring would be out of 
danger. The drum was right. God's Providence 
(on a hot day) must decide the issue — Bud refused 
to jolt the arm of destiny. 

“ Behring would be " 

" A — a — ah ! " sighed the drum. " Bud never 
would ha' used me so — o — o " 

In a flash the clutch was out and the brake was 
on. Bud's breath was coming in choking gasps and 
his hand trembled until the sweat-damped fingers 
could hardly turn the small milled head of the 
throttle. Like a man stricken, he half staggered, 
half fell against the wall of the shed, to find that the 
devil had placed a crowbar conveniently to hand. 
Next instant, with short, nervous strides, he 
had crossed the intervening space to the shaft- 
head. 

Far up the long gulch, that headed — where the 
trail crossed the divide — in the saddleback between 
Hawk Hill and the camp, a raving, white-faced woman 
drove frantic spurs in the bloody flanks of a grey 
horse. Bud could not see her — she was hidden from 
view at the moment by a bend in the trail — and the 
beating of the arteries in his ears drowned the hoof- 
beats. Besides, his mind was taken up with other 
matters. 

Jamming the point of the bar between a boulder 
and the broken baulk of timber, the burly mechanic 
threw all his great weight against the lever. The 
lizard scurried to safety as a shower of shall stones 


THE CASTING VOTE 


231 

rattled down the shaft. From below echoed a wild 
inarticulate shriek of mortal fear. 

A second time Bud heaved. With a rending crash 
the half-rotten timber parted ; and a good ton 
weight of loose boulders thundered down the shaft. 


t 


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THE SUBJUGATION OF THE 
SKETTERING 




THE SUBJUGATION OF THE 
SKETTERING 


“ T ^ ACT of the bally matter is you won't try/' 
I — { bellowed Sir Reginald Skettering. '' Pyng 

JL is the best of employers if treated with 
proper respect. You're no damned good, Charles, 
if you want a brother's frank opinion." 

Charles sneered. 

" I don't want your opinion, you bladder-faced 
ox," he commented. 

The ox's bladder face became radiant gules, with 
a soupgon of deeper purple, and a deep choking 
sound gurgled up from the regions circumscribed by 
his sixteen and a half inch collar. Without further 
indications of annoyance he fumbled in the pigeon- 
holes of his desk, produced a cheque-book and 
scratched an order for fifty pounds. 

" Take that," he remarked, slamming the paper 
on the desk, " and get ! Clear out of the 
country." 

" If it wasn't for one thing," said Charles, smiling 
as Satan smiles upon a new arrival at the gate, " I 
wouldn't touch your frowsy money. Like most 
of my pals I happened to get bitten on your stinking 
Patagonian railroad fraud. As I've got about a 
tenth of one per cent of the loot back again the 
only decent thing I can do, as a gentleman, as a 
gentleman^ you swine — ^term you do not comprehend 

235 


236 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


the inner meaning of — is to shout the drinks. Fiver 
to old Mactavish — skipper of tramp, personal friend 
of mine — for the passage, and forty-five to spend 
in Buenos Ayres. My word ! They will be pleased 
when they hear where the money came from ! 
I apologized at the time. Said * Devlish sorry, 
but Lm afraid it's a do. You see it's my brothah 
— ^he spat the word rather than spoke it — “ ' and I 
know the swab. I’m in as bad as the rest of you,' 
I said, ' although I ought to have known better. 
Beastly sorry ! ' By gad, Reggie, they will be 
pleased ! We'll drink your baUy health ! ’ " 

Sir Reginald emitted a hoarse scream and half 
rose in his chair — ^there was no entail on the Sketter- 
ing temper. Suddenly recollecting that he was a 
man of sedentary habits, and that Charles — ^though 
otherwise inefficient — ^had shone as a blacksmith's 
helper, he sat down again. 

“ Get out ! " he croaked. “ Clear out of here 
before I ring for the porter and have you thrown 
out, you — you " 

His voice trailed to an apoplectic murmur. With 
the family sneer still chiselled deeply on his other- 
wise not unpleasant features, Charles thrust his 
hands in his pockets and loafed out through the 
glass-panelled doors. 

Arrived on the pavement he looked with scorn 
upon all living things. His expression — the typical 
Skettering face under the influence of the Temper — 
was not unlike that of an irritated rattlesnake. 
Hurrying clerks glanced once and sheered off the 
pavement. A stray costermonger eyed him wist- 
fully, ran an appraising eye over his torso, and sigh- 
ing deeply passed on his way. The world, ever ready 


SUBJUGATION OF THE SKETTERING 237 


to take him by stealth in flank or rear, refused any 
challenge to a direct frontal attack. 

Snarling contemptuously, the genial Charles took 
up his hostile journey westward to cash the cheque. 
His brother had thoughtfully drawn on his private 
account, Messrs. Klootz and Klootz of Cockspur 
Street, taxis were extravagance, and one cannot 
ask even a brother for twopence bus fare and at 
the same time make a dignified exit from his 
presence. 

By the time he reached Trafalgar Square he was 
so annoyed that a very diminutive child made loud 
outcry at the sight of him, and eluding the clutches 
of a horrified nurse toddled out into the street. 

Charles had at least one good point. He was 
endowed with that very rare gift of immediate 
action in an emergency. On one occasion this 
attribute had saved his life, and lost another man 
his. Before the frozen bystanders could grasp the 
import of the bus driver's oaths he, the original 
cause of the trouble, had saved the baby. Had he 
been the only prompt individual to hand this would 
have been a simple matter. Providence, however, 
ordained otherwise. 

At the moment of the laying of his hands upon 
the infant, Charles discovered his possession dis- 
puted. From the heavens above or the earth be- 
neath had materialized a stranger — a red-headed 
girl with intent similar to his own. Her advent 
flustered him ; not much but just enough to dis- 
turb his nicely arranged schedule of time available. 
The bus passed on ; the baby hurtled into the belt 
lineTof the sombre policeman — who should have 
rescued it in the first instance — and Charles and the 


238 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


lady, wrapped in each other's arms, touched down 
in the gutter. 

Give 'em air ! " said the crowd, more fruitful 
in precept than example. '' Give 'em air — ^lidy's 
'urt ! " 

Charles stifled an expression which might have 
passed muster in the byways of Buenos Ayres, but 
was unsuitable for use in mixed company in Trafal- 
gar Square. 

'Pon my soul," he said, " I'm most awfully " 

" Oh it's nothing much — only — only — it's my 
ankle— oh ! " 

Charles's heart bled. Fortunately, the wheel had 
only caught the heel of the boot and twisted the 
enclosed foot. There was no question of broken 
bones ; but a sprain is painful, and the lady w^as 
beautiful — so thought Charles — and he felt the 
fault was his. 

'' 'Pon my honour I never saw you," he continued, 
about half an hour later, to a pallid heroine seated 
at his side in a taxi — ^his taxi. " You must think 
me an awful lout." 

" Oh, please don't say that. If you hadn't pulled 

me out of the way I " she shuddered. " I saw 

a man run over once," she broke off. 

" I once saw a man caught in the cogs of a 
machine " began Charles cheerily. 

But in what manner of machine the man was 
caught wall never be known for the lady said : 

" Don't ! " 

Charles didn't. His prompt obedience rather 
surprised him. At this period of his life he would 
have questioned the orders of his master the devil. 

" Where are we going ? " he asked. 


SUBJUGATION OF THE SKETTERING 239 

** Chelsea, if you don't mind. I have rooms there. 
I — Tm an artist, you see." 

Quite three weeks later, perhaps four. Sir Reginald 
was singing " lusty," as Pepys would have it, in 
his pew at St. Jacob's in the Lane. The hymn was 
the one before the sermon, and referred to the vile- 
ness of humanity in Ceylon and suchlike outlandish 
places. The sentiment, with its suggestion of 
" Buenos Ayres where Charles should almost be by 
now," pleased his brother. His voice boomed 
high above the organ and the chanting of the 
choir. 

Suddenly Sir Reginald ceased to sing. A new 
expression crept over his face — ^that of a man who, 
having swallowed a pumpkin whole, now finds 
himself unable to digest it. People edged nervously 
away from him, and the vicar — deeply distressed at 
the sight of one of his flock on the verge of an 
apoplexy — swept his customary glass of water from 
the edge of the pulpit to the bald head of 
Mr. Wilkins, the curate. It was a horrible 
moment. 

Loath to believe the evidence of his senses. Sir 
Reginald wildly argued within himself the utter 
impossibility of what he seemed to behold. In the 
first place Charles would never dieam of entering a 
place of worship, save, perhaps, by night and with 
the intention of stealing the plate ; in the second — 
" No ! By gad, it was he ! The scoundrel ! The 
ingrate ! " With fifty pounds of his brother's hard- 
earned money in his pocket " Charles who should 
have been in Buenos Ayres " stood within ten feet 
of him, visibly holding a hymn book and making a 


240 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


mouthing pretence to sing words of praise. What 
further froze the senses of his gurgling kinsman was 
the perception that he was not alone. 

D — ^n it ! said Charles triumphantly in the 
porch after the service. Talk of the Consolations 
of Religion. Did you see my brothah ? 

Hush ! said the red-headed girl severely. 
** You mustnH talk like that ! I didn't know you 
had a brother," she added. 

"Oh, yes. Most frightful swine, as a matter of 
fact " 

" Mr. Skettering ! ! " 

" Sorry," said Charles with contrition. " You 
see, we’re pretty frank with one another — I and my 
brothah." 

Sir Reginald arrived on the steps in time to see 
her limp round the corner on the arm of her new 
acquisition. His face at the moment was quite 
suitable for a wicked baronet. His first wild im- 
pulse was in favour of instant pursuit ; but, provi- 
dentially he was pinned by the Dowager Lady 
Kilkattery before he could carry this desire into 
practice. Otherwise there might have been effusion 
of Skettering blood on that Sabbath morn. I do 
not mean that Lady Kilkattery seized him by the 
neck and screamed. She took him by the lapel 
and spoke at some length concerning bazaars and 
such light matters. One cannot off-hand tell a 
countess, however boring, that one must now be 
going to kill one’s brother. 

So instead he went home to his house in Glouces- 
ter Road and surrounded by the viper if or m physiog- 
nomies of his bad-tempered ancestors, he wrote a 
letter. He said : 


SUBJUGATION OF THE SKETTERING 241 

'' Charles, — With regard to your conduct of 
late the least said the soonest mended, so I will 
content myself with reminding you that hence- 
forth you can look for no financial assistance from 
myself under any circumstances. 

Your affectionate brother, 

Reginald Skettering/' 


A couple of days later he got a reply : 

'' Dear Reggie, 

Go to the devil. 

Your aff. brother, 

Charles Dilkenwhistle Maundley 
Skeltering.’' 

Sir Reginald promptly discharged the butler and 
the man who ran the errands and looked after the 
billiard room — a wage-slave with an enormous 
family. This, however, did him little good. His 
only consolation in a blighted universe was the pious 
hope that he might yet encounter Charles Dilken- 
whistle Maundley selling bootlaces in the gutter. 
He resolved to make no purchase in such a case. 
Rather, if possible, he would give Charles in charge 
for obstructing the traffic. 

Now it came to pass that Charles rose very early 
and walked alone by the Round Pond in Kensington 
Gardens to meditate. “ Eileen,” he said, by which 
he meant Miss Thurlo, which was the red-headed 


R 


242 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


girPs name, “ is rather nice. If it were not for my 
brothah 

In some way he felt his brother was to blame. 
How exactly he could not say. His brother had 
certainly procured his late employment with John- 
son, Snelgrove and Pyng. That Pyng^s tempera- 
ment failed to attune itself to his own, and that his 
consequent irresistible desire to tweak the nose of 
Pyng had lost him his job, was obviously not his 
brother's fault. And then there was the fifty 
pounds ; not very much for a man with a five 
figure income to bestow, yet nevertheless a gift. 
Still he felt his brother was to blame. 

Eileen, on the other hand — Well, Eileen was 
quite different from any mortal Charles had ever 
encountered. He could not conceive himself being 

rude to Eileen. It was perhaps his innate chivalry 

“ No, by gad ! " exploded Charles, too honest to 
lie even to himself. By the Lord Harry, it's 
worse than that. I'm afraid of her ! " 

This amazing revelation caused him to laugh. 
Whilst he was yet overcome with merriment to 
think that he, Charles Skettering, feared a human 
being — one weighing less than nine stone withal — 
a foot fell faintly on the sward. He turned and 
found himself face to face with his brother. 

Sir Reginald, whose mother had once discovered 
a resemblance between her offspring and Napoleon 
Buonaparte, clasped his hands behind his back and 
solemnly eyed Charles across the tops of his rimless 
glasses. Charles flicked the gravel with his stick. 
The moment was too intensely gravid for common- 
places of greeting. 

'' What the deuce," said Charles finally, " are 


SUBJUGATION OF THE SKETTERING 243 

you doing here at this time of day — floating a 
National Unemployment Insurance Scheme among 
the tramps ? '' 

It is my custom/' said his brother uneasily. 
He felt he was confessing to a weakness. '' I have 
made it a habit to stroll out here in the freshness of 
the morning, so as — ah — so that I — ah — ^in fact 
I find the practice invigorating and healthful for a 
man who has had to work hard all his life, and is 
habitually chained to his desk." 

His customary office hours were indeed from 
11.30 a.m. until 4 p.m., with an interval for lunch 
only. 

Do you ? " said Charles. '' By gad, Reggie, so 
do I ! Well, so long ! Don't let me keep you." 

Sir Reginald made no movement to accept this 
dismissal. '' I — ah — expect to meet some one this 
morning," he explained. 

Hah ! " quoth Charles. ''You dog ! You gay 
old dog, Reggie ! " 

The alleged gaiety of the dog did not prevent it 
from emitting a most unchristian sounding snarl. 

" If I were in the habit of making clandestine 
appointments," remarked Sir Reginald, " if I were 
in the habit of making appointments with women 
of — ah — the lower world, I would hardly choose a 
place and hour such as this. Any more," he added 
viciously after a pregnant pause, "than I would have 
the indecency to make them " 

" Where ? " inquired Charles with treacherous 
smoothness. 

" In places of worship, sir ! " bellowed the 
baronet, forgetting himself at last. 

As he spoke he was suddenly cognizant of a jarring 


244 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


shock. His glasses flew tinkling to the gravel, and 
with a heavy plunge Sir Reginald vanished in the 
waters of the Pond. 

I should like to be able to say that Charles was 
overcome with remorse when he saw what he had 
done ; that he plunged into the water and rescued 
his brother on the third time down. This is im- 
possible for two reasons. First the water is too 
shallow, and secondly Charles was not disposed 
toward rescue work. He certainly did enter the 
pond, but I am sorry to say it was only for the pur- 
pose of standing upon Sir Reginald's prostrate 
form. 

Apologize, you swine ! " gritted Charles, stamp- 
ing with a good heart. 

There was no keeper in sight and the two non- 
descripts on the opposite shore, who formed the 
entire audience thus far, showed no intention of 
intervening. 

'' Murder ! ” croaked Sir Reginald. 

Charles deftly inserted his heel under his brother's 
chin and thrust him bubbling into the deep. 

I really believe murder would have been done, 
had the Skettering family been left to adjust their 
differences undisturbed ; but at this critical moment 
two running figures broke from the cover of the 
venerable chestnuts to the immediate south. In 
the lead came a withered, but well set up old 
gentleman in a bowler and a brown homespun 
suit ; after him ran a girl in another brown home- 
spun suit and a hat. 

Mr. Skettering ! " 

The words were not uttered in a shocked tone. 
Rather they were sharp and subtly imperious. 


SUBJUGATION OF THE SKETTERING 245 

Charles abandoned his prey and slunk ashore to 
face the music. This was the last thing he expected 
in the way of a meeting, and it was — so he said — 
the devil. 

“ Mr. Skettering,'' repeated the red-headed girl, 
** are you mad ? '' 

She got no further. There was a voluptuous 
sucking sound, as of a heavy body leaving deep 
mud, and with a low-pitched howl Sir Reginald 
spattered through the shallows, threw his arms 
around his brother and buried his teeth in his 
biceps. 

Charles's anguished eye sought that of his new 
lady for instructions ; but she, great as her savoir 
faire undoubtedly was, evidently found this problem 
— ^what to do when bitten by a baronet ? — too deep 
for her. Sighing heavily her slave swung his left 
to Sir Reginald's jaw. The grasping teeth closed 
with a click and the assailant subsided in a heap of 
moist broadcloth and wilted linen. 

'' By Jingo ! " exclaimed the little gentleman, 
screwing in a monocle under his bushy brow the 
better to observe the scene, “ quite a punch ! What? " 
He hopped about like an excited sparrow. '' Might 
I ask who you are, sir ? I fancy our friend here 
can put you in for six months for what you've 
already done, so you'd better not hit him 
again." 

" Oh, as for that, sir," said Charles civilly, " I 
doubt he'll take action. You see, it's my brothah. 
We have very bad tempers and he was most in- 
fernally insulting with — ah — with regard to my 
acquaintance with this lady " 

" This lady ? " echoed the little gentleman. 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


246 

screwing his diminutive face a little more if such a 
feat were possible. 

Yes, sir. You see — ah — ^this lady — who — ^ah — 
is a well-known resident artist in Chelsea — ^that is to 
say I had the honour to make her acquaintance, by 
a fortuitous chance, a few days before I should 
have sailed for South America — and — ah — and — I 
suppose it annoyed my brothah,'' he concluded 
lamely. 

'' So you came here to fight it out — I see ! '' 

“ Oh, no, sir ! Purely casual meeting. He's got 
a nasty trick of insulting my friends to my face when- 
ever possible " Charles blushed a little and 

bowed toward the red-headed girl. Purely matter 
of habit," he explained. " Does it on general 
principles. Licked him for it before. No use." 

" Father," broke in the red-headed girl, seating 
herself firmly on an adjacent chair and crossing her 
feet, " this is Mr. Charles Skettering, the gentleman 
who saved my life from the omnibus. I suppose 
the other is Sir Reginald, his brother, whom you 
came out to meet." 

The baronet began to flap back into conscious 
existence. 

" Damned scoundrel," were his first words as he 
opened his eyes. 

'' This," remarked the little gentleman acidly, 
'' is what comes of your infernal flat, and all your 
other infernal whims, Eileen. I pay out several 
hundred a year that you may make yourself the 
subject of a public brawl. It's not right. I'll be 
hanged if I'll have it." 

" Very well," said Eilleen gloomily, " then I'll 
starve." Her parent grunted dubiously, but it 


SUBJUGATION OF THE SKETTERING 247 

appeared the flat would probably continue inhabited. 
** This is my father, Lord Throgmorton, Mr. Sketter- 
ing,'' she added. He came here to see your 
brother about you. Father imagines he is dreadfully 
busy most of the time, so he telephoned to know 
where your brother could be found early in the 
morning, and he said here, and so we came here. 
You have to manage an experimental farm '' 

I am considering the matter,'' interrupted Lord 
Throgmorton hastily. 

'' You're not," said his disrespectful offspring. 

Mr. Skettering would be just the man to put a 
stopper on Binns, and you said yourself Binns was 
a swindler." 

He would indeed," assented his lordship, in- 
specting Charles as one examines a pedigree bull. 

“ Well then, that's settled. Take Sir Reginald 
home and change his clothes or he’ll catch his death 
if you stand talking much longer. I'm going to bring 
Mr. Skettering in to breakfast in about ten minutes' 
time. Take the car. I'll get a taxi." 

Well," continued the red-headed girl, as soon 
as her parent and Sir Reginald had withdrawn, 
“I'm thoroughly ashamed of you." 

Charles wilted a little. 

“ I think you are most disgraceful. And you told 
a fib." 

“ I didn't," denied Charles. 

“You did. You said I was an eminent artist." 

“ Well, you do draw pictures — ^for the papers," 
suggested Charles. 

“ Of course I do. Didn't I tell you I believed in 
people who cultivated their talents and earned their 
own living. But I’m not eminent." 


248 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


'' The papers must publish quite a lot of the 
pictures/’ suggested Charles. 

In her turn the red-headed girl blushed. Charles 
forbore to question further. 

“ It’s jolly good of you,” he began. 

” No, it’s not.” She eyed him gravely. '' I 
think you can do a lot, Mr. Skettering, if people 
will give you a chance. I’m giving you one because 
— ^because I want to see you have a chance. You’ll 
be good, won’t you ? ” 

” I will,” said Charles. He seemed about to add 
something, but evidently changed his mind. 

“ I only lose my temper with my brother,” he 
said firmly. 

This was not quite true, but he meant he could 
never — ^in his wildest fancies — imagine the possi- 
bility of his losing his temper with the red-headed 
girl. 


THE FAILURE 


% 


A 


THE FAILURE 


T he flood-gates opened and for fifteen minutes 
the thunder of a tropical downpour 
drowned all other sounds. It was a rain 
which brought no freshness to the air. Sweat 
stood in little beads on Bertie Coulson's forehead, 
and his clothes stuck uncomfortably to his skin. 
He had been listening to the music — they were 
holding a smoking concert across the way — but now 
the rain had broken the spell of the banjo. From a 
leak in the roof water began to drip dankly from 
the soiled ceiling cloth to the flagged floor, so young 
Coulson tried to concentrate his mind on that. 

This was to be the end of the life he had planned 
so largely but a few years before. 

Bertie Coulson had the misfortune to be the 
wrong man in the wrong place. His father was the 
head of Coulson, Coulson and King, and intended 
his only son to follow him in the business ; and old 
Coulson was one of those strong silent men whose 
will is as the law of the Medes and Persians. The 
Almighty, on the other hand, had apparently risked 
old Coulson 's displeasure by designing his son on 
the lines of a man of Science. He was a chemical 
dreamer — ^if you can imagine such a thing. 

Research work is notoriously unremunerative, 
and unless Bertie could make money for himself he 
was pretty sure to have rather a miserable time of 
251 


252 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


it in the long run. There were eight daughters, all 
unmarried, to provide for, and the profits of the 
business of Coulson, Coulson and King were not so 
stupendous as the sound of the name might imply. 

There were no stormy scenes, however, when 
Bertie announced his desire to take the qualifying 
course for a B.Sc. in Pme Science. His father 
humoured him to that extent, because the knowledge 
would be of assistance in the business. He knew 
there was not much risk of Bertie tumbling into a 
job the moment he got through — ^he was a lazy 
devil except in a few subjects — so he felt he held a 
financial hammer lock on his wayward son. 

Naturally he was vexed, nevertheless, when Bertie 
did manage to secure an assistant's billet the 
moment he passed his Finals. This afforded a slim 
modus vivendi and was far from the sort of thing 
his father wished to see. The time had come for 
Bertie to settle down to serious business if he ever 
wanted to marry Nellie Longshaw. 

Bertie did mean to settle down to serious work, 
but at the same time he intended to stick to what 
he chose to consider his natural vocation. In this 
his fiancee, who had faith in him in those days, 
very naturally backed him up. She said that 
money made no difference to her so long as Bertie 
was doing his real duty in life. She meant that 
she considered Bertie would ultimately make more 
as Professor Coulson, or Sir Herbert Coulson, or 
Lord Brittingten, than would ever come his dreamy 
way in a counting-house. When he was sufficiently 
advanced on the path of fame to make it morally 
certain there would be no regression, she intended 
to marry him. She looked upon herself as a sort of 


THE FAILURE 


253 


reward of virtue — ^to be handed to Bertie as first 
prize for his success. Afterwards he would support 
her in the state of physical and mental comfort to 
which she was accustomed — or even in more 
luxurious style than obtained at the Vicarage. She 
herself would be — she supposed — a comfort to him 
in his middle age and an ornament to his home. 

I hope I am not blackening her character. She 
was quite a nice girl, and meant extremely well. 
And she was quite fond of Bertie. 

The rain had ceased and once more the strains of 
the music drifted through the muggy air. Bertie 
Coulson was huddled on the edge of the bed. His 
eyes stared vacantly at the plastered wall in front 
of him, and he nursed a 'Thirty-eight ” Colt revolver 
in the palm of one hand. 

Bertie loved Nellie Longshaw so much that he 
got more absent-minded than ever, put the wrong 
chemical in the wrong pot, and nearly blinded his 
livery old professor for life. The professor — who 
kept a double shift of assistants on the go, one half 
discharged whilst the other waited to be — promptly 
fired him. His father refused to assist him — without 
waiting to be asked — and Bertie found himself in 
danger of premature decease through lack of proper 
nourishment. This was how he came to go abroad, 
travelling in the capacity of ship's steward. It was 
a false move, but he took it, and thereafter worked 
as an assayer in far western mining camps. A 
chemist can be an assayer, although an assayer is 
not always a chemist. It was the only thing he felt 
competent to tackle. In course of time he drifted 
south to Mexico. At the point where this story 
begins he was weighing the advisability of a trip 


254 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


farther south still, to Colombia, against an even 
longer journey. 

Miss Longshaw had one chilly premonition that 
this was the end of her maiden dreams of Lady 
Brittingten — wife of Lord Brittingten, o.M., D.sc. 
(Edin.) — ^and faced the situation with true British 
fortitude. She decided to keep Bertie well supplied 
with biographies of famous men as a stimulant to 
endeavour, and to hope for the best. 

Unfortunately, Bertie rapidly became disillu- 
sioned as to the life which lay before him. He 
started to save his money — slowly enough it seemed 
to accumulate in spite of the big appearing wages — 
but the conditions and environment of the mining 
camp were repellent to him. He had no love of 
money for money's sake ; and it is for money alone 
that men rape the earth. The last straw was added 
by two unfortunate cartoons in the official organ of 
the Polkville Correspondence Schools, sent to him 
by some unknown hand as a possible new student. 

The first of the two pictures, both of which were 
calculated to awaken ambition in the young, showed 
a youth of prepossessing feature and Herculean 
mould grovelling on top of a pile of dollars. The 
other depicted a mob of similar young men fighting 
tooth and nail to get to the base of a ladder, up 
which, after!planting a parting kick or two on the 
faces below — triumphantly scrambled the students 
of the Polkville Schools. 

Instead of attuning Bertie's mind to the beauties 
of the:^outlook on life embodied in their pictorial 
parables, the publishers only succeeded in finally 
damping his ardour. He was a sensitive soul, and 
it had dawned on him that the road to financial 


THE FAILURE 


255 

success was too often marked by the broken hearts 
of unsuccessful fellow-men. 

To gain anything in this world it is essential to 
desire it keenly ; the competition is so severe. 
Bertie did not want money. His impossible desire 
— which he carefully concealed from all men — was 
for love, leisure and unlimited chemicals. Had he 
been provided with these, this story had never been 
written. But custom and Miss Longshaw made all 
three merchantable articles. He failed to see this, 
blamed himself overmuch, — and hurt his self-respect . 

The dismal life of the camp, the low ideals, the 
humourless obscene conversation and the lack of 
comfort soon began to get in their work. Bertie 
developed the miner's habit of drifting from one 
place to another. He also discovered whisky, a 
drink which had deleterious effects on the tissues, 
especially on that part of the brain which encysts 
those qualities essential to success, but which has a 
deadening effect on the memory — sometimes. 

Then Miss Longshaw began to get peevish. His 
letters were beginning to tell tales — letters often do 
when ordinary conversation gives no idea as to the 
real state of the mind. He had a run of bad luck 
and spent a large part of his savings. He fought to 
obtain some more lasting sympathy than the bottle 
affords, but only drew forth comparisons, not 
always flattering, between himself and the illus- 
trious dead. He was in the south of Mexico about 
this time, in a climate which is often trying. He was 
frequently sick, and an unaccountable nervousness 
was making his tedious work more and more ab- 
horrent to his fretful nature. Worst of all a per- 
petual temptation — ^to his cranky mind worse than 


256 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


that of drink — was dogging his footsteps and whis- 
pering in his unwilling ear. Up till now his very 
real idealism had saved him from the ordinary 
follies of the ordinary young man at large ; but 
warped and thwarted instinct will assert itself in 
the long run. 

Bertie Coulson shuddered as his strained mind 
leaped the intervening twelve months of unadulter- 
ated hell and threw an all too vivid picture on the 
screen. The plaza of this same town under the 
stars, the warm peace of the Mexican night, the 
slumberous throbbing of a distant mine-pump and 
the occasional rattle of cab wheels alone breaking 
the silence. From ten o’clock until midnight he had 
sat alone on one of the seats which encircled the 
bandstand, listening to the raving devils’ voices 
within him and fighting the dull pain of desire 
— and for a week it had been the same story. On 
the one hand the bare room, which was all his 
home, by night, and the long monotonous day of 
mechanical routine. On the other 

In six months’ previous residence he had acquired 
but three friends, Hansen, Cartwright and Mrs. 
Spaulding. The last-named was one of those 
women before whom men’s hats come off in obedi- 
ence to natural law rather than by mere courtesy. 
Her quiet unconscious control had temporarily 
soothed the pain and driven back the enemy from 
the gate — he even added three months teetotalism 
to his other abstentions — ^but her health was in- 
different. So, with a heavy heart, for she knew the 
motherless boy’s weakness and his strivings, she 
left for Home. That left him with malaria stricken 
Cartwright, the Englishman from Colombia ; and 


THE FAILURE 


257 


Hansen — ^the same Hansen who licked the big 
Scotchman at Charcos. Cartwright was in hospital 
and Hansen — more than probably — in the exact 
quarter of the town Bertie wished to avoid. 

Hansen now slept in the desolate graveyard of a 
northern town. The voice of Cartwright waa in his 
ears. He was going to sing again — Bertie could hear 
the applause. 

Yet of the two Hansen was the nearest to him. 
In a few moments he would see Hansen again — in 
hell or otherwise, it made no difference. There could 
be no hell with that kindly hand on his shoulder. 

Hansen's grin and Hansen's villainous bad luck 
had been as proverbial as Hansen's morals — ^which 
were damnable. Some unknown charmer in the 
States had been good enough to jilt him, at a period 
when he also held ideals and fought to uphold them, 
and he was a thorough man. Outlaw the sex had 
made him, therefore wolf's head would he be. He 
scorned respectability, otherwise he was charming. 

“ Oh, my God ! " muttered the unhappy boy as 
the memories crowded. This was the face most 
intimately associated with the shattering of his 
idols. 

For the voices had triumphed. With wet hands 
and trembling knees — ^how wet his hands were now, 
and, yes, he would sit down again and collect him- 
self — ^he had staggered into a passing cab. No need 
to instruct the evil-minded driver at that time of 
night. He — Ah, God ! Why had he done it ? 

It was all illusion. The haggard painted faces of 
the women, the half-hidden sordidness behind the 
tawdry glitter, the false laughter, the — Oh, why ? 
why ? why ? 


s 


258 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


And Hansen was there, as usual, genially half- 
seas over and enthroned in an all-embracing popu- 
larity. As was his custom he had neither praised 
nor blamed the new arrival ; although for a moment 
he looked worried. He was often present on the 
ensuing nights when the triumphant devils again 
and again drove their shrinking victim to the 
pleasure which was abhorrence to him and the false 
anodyne which shamed his soul. He never attempted 
to encourage the boy, but he never attempted to 
restrain him. I think he was right. 

The only statement he ever made on the subject 
was to Cartwright. He said, '' Bertie tumbled off 
his perch. I tink dat's bad thing. Dose White 
Cross cranks fall pretty hard. I been dere too.'' 

I am forgetting Nellie Longshaw. Of course she 
knew nothing at all about these goings-on or she 
would have broken off the engagement at once. 
And quite right too ! Such things were unheard-of 
at the Vicarage. 

When she did cut the painter it was because of 
the morbid tone of Bertie's letters. She abhorred 
suffering and it made her most uncomfortable to 
read them. Perhaps it was unfortunate she missed 
the underlying plea for synpathy ; but on the whole 
it was as well — for have I not shown that Bertie 
was quite unworthy. She held out the hope, how- 
ever, that if he could pull himself together and — not 
exactly in these words of course — obtain the stipu- 
lated sum within a reasonable period, well, in that 
case he might yet win the sought -for prize. 

At the same time his father had sent him a letter 
to say he could yet find him a place in the office 
should he care to return home. 


THE FAILURE 


259 


Since Bertie had already destroyed himself by 
the time these two missives reached him the hopes 
proffered did little good. The same blow which, 
glancing from the broad shoulders of the hardy 
Danish mechanic, left him apparently unscathed 
had now hurled the highly strung genius — for 
Bertie was a genius, though never to be discovered 
— ^to his destruction. The recklessness of despair 
rendered him careless, and that in Mexico is fatal. 
The doctor said he could fix him up but admitted 
he had never seen a worse case. 

'' I guess you'll not be figurin' on gettin' married?" 
he said. 

“ No," answered Bertie. 

" That's right. I never advise a man to take 
such a risk when he's set up as bad as you are, even 
when he seems cured. You should have been more 
careful. Don't get low about it, however. If you 
do what I tell you I can get the disease out of your 
system in a year or two. But you'll have to be 
mighty careful." 

Well, that was over and done with now. He had 
not even followed the doctor's last piece of advice 
after the first few months — ^the chances, if one could 
call them chances, were so poor and the outlook so 
hopeless. Remained the last — to follow Hansen. 
Hansen who had laughed through life until the fever 
struck him, worked three weeks with it on him, 
had been carried raving to the hospital, and died 
fighting imaginary foes who — so he said — ^were 
slashing him with knives. Bertie was puzzled at 
the time, but now he knew what that illusion meant, 
for he himself had experienced it without the neces- 
sity of first contracting typhoid. It seemed to him 


26 o 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


that all the world struck at him as he battled for- 
lornly against a nightmare of uncounted odds. 
And, more savage and more bitter than all other 
strokes, the steely indifference of Miss Longshaw 
slashed and hacked at his fainting soul. 

Until the numbness of death was on him. 

The resolve that had been stealing into his heart 
became a fixed one. His fingers tightened on the 
butt of the pistol. Across the street Cartwright 
still sang. What was it ? It sounded familiar. The 
words were simple and direct, although the air 
suggested somehow the full and solemn pathos of a 
funeral march : 

“ For it’s knock out your pipes and — follow me, 

And it’s finish up your swipes and — follow me. 

Oh, ’ark to the fifes a callin’ — 

Follow me — follow me ’ome.” 

'' Home ! My God ! The half-smoked cigarette 
fell from his shaking hand and his eyes roved wildly 
from the four bare walls which penned him in to 
the pistol which was to set him free. Yes, it was a 
home for the homeless man. A home of peace and 
understanding. A home free from the ravages of 
desire and sin. Home and — Hansen the brave. 
He understood now ! He would do it 

Yet — Nellie — and his father. It was going to hurt 
them 

No ! They must stand it. They would survive 
the shock. Their natural indignation at his cowar- 
dice would help them to obliterate his memory. 

Suddenly he was praying ; and, as he knelt, dry, 
tearless sobs of disappointment and grief shook 
his body. His life — the life which he had hoped to 
make a service any man might be proud of — and 


THE FAILURE 


261 


this was the end of it. It was a cowardly thing to 
do and Hansen would — No ! Hansen never con- 
demned ! 

It flashed into his bewildered brain that he had 
got the cart before the horse. It was the thought 
of Nellie which drove him to self-destruction. 
Hansen, silent and all unseen, was staying his hand. 

Again in a flood of prayer rose the figure of the 
Dane, new bearded, pale and wasted with the fever 
— not at all the Hansen of happier days. Hansen 
in the last ditch, cursing, fighting, dying. Hansen 
had fought it to the bitter end — and now a new 
Hansen 

Rising from his knees Bertie staggered half-way 
to the cupboard, halted, turned and reeled back 
again. Whisky was no solution this time. 

Oh God ! What could he do ? What should he 
do ? Was it possible to bear the weight of the 
slow’-dragging days in a land he had grown to hate ; 
and the vivid memories of the past to haunt him ? 

Cartwright did that same thing ; but Cartwright 
was a man of sterner mould. Next week Cartwright 
returned to his Colombian gold mine. If Bertie 
wished he could go with him. Go into the wilder- 
ness with the sure knowledge that never more would 
he return. Death was better ! And yet 

There was a strange gentleness about Cartwright 
also. Hansen was gone from him ; Nellie he would 
never see again ; but Cartwright 

“ Oh, my Father, help me ! 

Silence fell and a raindrop dripped solemnly in 
the dark. 

My Father ! My Father ! '' 

Was it a whisper in the wet trees, or only the 


262 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


echo of the half-caught melody in his clouding 
mind ? It seemed to him that Hansen was before 
him with his pale face set to the south. And 
through the ether — very fine, very attenuated, but 
crystal clear — came the music and the words. 
Hope ! Hope deferred but real and strong and 
unquenchable. Hope that could conquer a life in 
exile and an exile's death. That could overcome 
the heart's strong yearning for the unattainable 
Nellie, his true life's work and the earthly fireside : 

“ Oh, passing the love o’ women — 

Follow me — follow me ’ome.” 

And like a rising tide the great overpouring flood 
of Brother Love was upon him and around him. 
The one true taintless love opening its arms to all 
weak things. The secret Hansen had guarded, the 
unspoken thing that Cartwright knew. Was it 
Hansen, or Cartwright or — who was it ? Some one 
had beckoned and his way was clear. 

Cartwright," said Bertie, brushing aside the 
preferred welcome — mainly liquid — of the revellers — 
" er — Cartwright, old man, I just dropped in to 
let you know I had decided to take that job, if it's 
still open." 


THE CAT 




THE CAT 


I TOLERATE my Aunt Georgina Pringle, 
because she is rich and I am not ; I tolerate 
Mr. Philip because he has never done me any 
definite harm ; but I hate the cat. 

It is a ring-straked cat. That is to say it is 
covered with stripes at intervals, and it has an evil 
eye. I do not mean that the eye is part of the ring- 
straking of the cat, but merely refer to the stripes. 
The eye — considered separately — is like a yellow 
lamp with a dark spot in the middle. There is only 
one of it, for the other has been obliterated, so to 
speak, by a catter-act. I mean we had a dog that 
was a catter by hobby, and that he acted in this 
instance. 

Why did he do it ? Well, he was a heye bred 
dog, and breeding will tell, of course. 

Why do I go on like this ? I am paid for these 
inscriptions by the space I fill, and naturally I wish 
to fill as many as possible. 

To return to the cat, I may say that it was a 
thief, and would take anything that was not nailed 
to the floor. It gulped down the family robin one 
day. I mention this to rouse public indignation 
against the cat ; for I hate it. Having depredated — 
among other depredations — ^the robin, the cat then 
proceeded to steal a chop. There is a wall that runs 
to and fro between my house and the house of Mr 
265 


266 


WILLIAM POLLOIi 


Philip, and the cat ran to and fro upon the wall. 
I hope I am not causing confusion. The wall was 
steady enough, as a matter of fact, but I wish to 
produce the mental effect of the long wall and the 
restless, thieving cat, ceaselessly running to and 
fro. It ran up and down — ^the cat — and then it 
leapt like a tiger to prey upon a chop which was in 
custody of the butcher's boy. 

The butcher’s boy had a basket, and Barabbas — 
that’s the cat — sprang to seize the chop when the 
boy had put the basket upon the step. Down came 
the cat, and up went the chop. We had a fleeting 
futurist vision of the chop, the yellow eye, and the 
swift thief, with stolen meat in jaw, passing south- 
ward along the wall ; and then all was silence, save 
for the dazzled cries of the young lad. 

On Saturday the butcher’s boy threw stones at 
the cat. It was on Thursday that it had chop, and 
on Saturday it was on the coping to see the butcher’s 
boy go by. It had its tail wrapped round its feet 
and wore a detached air, but it moved nimbly when 
I said Mark cat ! ” and the butcher’s boy took 
action. He threw three stones, but without effect — 
that is to say without effect upon the cat. There 
was, nevertheless, a sound not unlike the dropping 
of innumerable tea trays which arose in the terri- 
tory of Mr. Philip. 

We did not look over to investigate, but the 
butcher’s boy exclaimed that he must be going. 
He and the cat went away in opposite direc- 
tions. 

I retired upstairs and looked out from an upper 
window. Mr. Philip was standing in front of his 
house apparently making a speech, but I observed 


THE CAT 


267 

no audience. The butcher’s boy had gone away. 
There was another window low down on the corner 
of Mr. Philip’s house, and instead of an ordinary 
pane in the centre there were three detached frag- 
ments of glass — ^triangular — adhering to the frame. 
Mr. Philip took his walking stick and poked these 
out, and then there was no glass at all — just a 
square hole. 

The thought now comes to me of the inscrutable 
finger of destiny guiding the hand of the butcher’s 
boy, and the walking stick of Mr. Philip. Often 
have I wondered into what room that window ad- 
mitted light and air, although at the time whereof 
I write I did not consider it expedient to ask ques- 
tions. I did not wish to awaken the prejudices of 
Mr. Philip, nor did I wish to hear him repeat the 
speech to which I had listened — moments before — 
in appalling pain and sorrow. 

The room behind the window was Mr. Philip’s 
larder ! 

How did I find out ? It was brought to my 
notice upon the following afternoon — that would be 
Sunday — ^that the joint efforts of the butcher’s 
boy and Mr. Philip had enlarged the scope of the 
utility of the window. In its original state it had 
admitted light. Later, as improved by the butcher’s 
boy, light and air. Now, as finally trimmed by Mr. 
Philip himself — light, air and cats. I inferred the 
final admission from certain ring-straked hind- 
quarters visible in the orifice — ^the square hole, you 
know, where the pane had passed away. 

The room behind the window was Mr. Philip’s 
larder — but how did I know that it was the larder ? 
Briefly, the cat came back vi^h a fish. I did not 


268 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


suspect Mr. Philip of concealing a trout stream 
on his premises, nor could I conceive him storing 
fish in his drawing-room, for instance, or allowing 
them to swim about in the bath when not in use. 
I dismissed all other hypotheses as intolerable, and 
exclaiming Larder ! observed the cat hurrying 
southward along the party wall, the fish sticking 
out like whiskers on either side of its face. No get- 
ting away from the stark determination which is 
the one fine point in an otherwise bleakly unmoral 
mind. As it went by the cat looked at me with an 
envenomed expression, but made no remark. Its 
jaws were otherwise occupied. Forth from the 
front capered Mr. Philip, excited no doubt by my 
indignant cries. 

Whether he had been counting over the tale of 
his fish — in the collective sense — and noted a shortage, 
or whether the snell ^ cat could not forbear a cry of 
triumph as it seized the tail, so to speak, of the 
fish — individual — I do not know. Anyhow, Mr. 
Philip was vexed. I judged this from his action in 
throwing a brick at the cat. 

These incidents which I have been narrating 
occurred in the summer time. The sun shone 
golden in a canopy of opalescent turquoise, and the 
light humming of bees abounded. The brick came 
in at the open window where my Aunt Georgina 
Pringle was knitting woollen comforters for the 
blind. 

She fell. The impact was more in the nature of 
a winning hazard than a kissing shot, and Aunt 
Georgina was neatly pocketed in the waste-paper- 

1 This is an English word— whatever the editor may say. It signifies 
the morality of pirates and east winds and the blinding snowstorm. 


THE CAT 269 

basket. Behind her as she sat — in the basket — a 
scene of destruction and terror was in progress. 

The brick slid lightly across the face of Aunt 
Georgina, and thence travelled to the mantel- 
piece where the bright yellow jar that Aunt Georgina 
gave me used to stand. It stands there no more, for 
the brick slew it, and it descended with violence to 
the partial squashing of a dog. The dog was called 
Flora, and it had the physical aspect and spiritual 
grace of a beetle. It was a pug dog, nominally, for 
my aunt is a Conservative in all things, including, 
I regret to say, finance. I mean, she kept the pug 
because it was cheap, and she had had it fifteen 
years, and Pekingese do not appeal to my aunt, 
who is one of the Old School. 

Mr. Philip, meanwhile, was out on the gravel 
exclaiming '' Bless the cat,'' or words to that effect. 
He didn't really say “ Bless," of course, but there 
is too much tendency nowadays — you know what I 
mean. I mention no names, but I am not that sort 
of author myself. I should not be surprised to find 
I did not even know what some of those words one 
reads about mean. 

I have been in Mexico, of course, but then they say 
it in Spanish there. I don't think Mr. Philip was 
talking in Spanish. Anyhow, it didn't sound like it. 

Mr. Philip, then, was making his final or apocalyp- 
tic speech when I came running out from the room 
where my aunt and her belongings had been de- 
stroyed. When he saw my pale face and frenzied 
air, and heard the screams of Aunt Georgina, terror 
fell upon him like a blanket. 

" Sir," he said, " I fear I have done you an 
injury." 


270 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


Sir/' I replied, are you a Suffragist ? " 

God bless my soul ! " exclaimed Mr. Philip. 
Such being the case, then," I continued, you 
are acting in a foolish manner. Within that room 
is a stunned supporter of the Cause, which you, sir, 
seek to advance by the rash folly of militancy. My 
aunt, sir, lies groaning in the faithful arms, so to 
speak, of her expiring pug. My aunt, sir — slain by 
the machinations of your infernal brick ! My aunt 
Georgina Pringle ! " 

'' God bless my soul ! " said Mr. Philip. 

'' Well may you say it," I remarked bitterly. 

'' I never " began Mr. Philip afresh. 

‘‘ Sir," I said, I saw you throw it." 

** That is not what I was about to say," said Mr. 
Philip. 

'' I had rather not hear what you were about to 
say," I retorted, “ after your previous remarks on 
the occasion of your cat breaking your window last 
Thursday. Your cat, sir, is a public nuisance, and 
your language I consider a national disgrace." 

** It's not " said Mr. Philip. 

I say it is, sir ! Your cat is a public nuisance." 

'' My cat is a public nuisance," repeated Mr. 
Philip in a dazed voice. Then, as I turned to go 
inside, he made a last effort to justify his unseemly 
conduct. It's not my cat," he shouted. The 

window was broken " 

If the cat is not your cat," I said — with a certain 
contempt — what justification can you show for 
throwing stones. No wonder your window was 
broken. People who live behind glass windows 
should not throw stones." 

Mr. Philip then became dumbstruck. 


THE GAT 


271 


This is the end of my tale ; the tale, so to speak, 
of the cat. Out of evil good has come, for Mr. 
Philip has bought an air gun, and the pug is dead. 
The cat sits afar — out of range — and glares with 
its wicked yellow eye, but it dare not venture close 
enough to eat the new robin. Heaven forbid that 
Aunt Georgina should keep her promise and replace 
the broken vase. 

I have given the butcher's boy a shilling. 















THE WEJREGELD 













THE WEREGELD 

(WRITTEN IN 1912) 


HE march of events had been so shatter- 



ingly swift. What had appeared, only a 


JL. week or two previously, as an abstract 
question of policy — a providential space-filler for 
harassed editors — had, without warning, blazed into 
ghastly life ; and Smith was afraid. A shell howled 
quavering overhead; somewhere in the depths of 
the town arose the crash and rumble of falling 
masonry ; in the fields and hedgerows south of 
the football field the busy rifles banged and spat 
with strange similarity to the beating of many 
carpets ; and Smith, an able-bodied Englishman in 
the prime of life, stood apathetically on his door- 
step to hsten. 

In the first place he had no rifle. 

Secondly, he could not have done much with the 
weapon had he possessed one. 

Thirdly, he was afraid. 

It was the perception of the last indictment which 
shocked him. He was a proud man, and to see 
himself in this light was all but unendurable. It 
was the shock did it. The shock and the realization 
of incompetence to meet the situation. It couldn't 
be ! It was a dream ! This was England in the 
twentieth century 

Ah-hoo ! Ah-hoo ! Ah-hoo ! Clang ! " mocked 
275 


276 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


the shrapnel. Curious whistling sounds filled the 
air — dust flew, and a vagrant dog, yelping its bitter 
anguish, dragged mysteriously maimed hindquarters 
down the gutter. Blood welled from the beast's 
thick coat and dribbled down its flanks. It looked 
at the man and yelled pitifully, and in its brown 
eyes Smith read the reflection of his own feelings. 

While he gazed, the tramp of hurrying feet 
sounded on the street. Men in drab uniforms filed 
past him, moving at a pace between a walk and a 
trot. A few cursed, one seemed to pray, but the 
majority hastened on towards the battle in silence. 
A sweating sergeant cast one passing glance on 
him. 

My Gawd ! " he commented severely. Another 
of 'em ! I should think, me lad, you'd be better 
employed fighting for the missus an' kids than 
hidin' in your doorway like a bloomin' rabbit." 

Before Smith could frame a suitable repartee the 
detachment had passed. He felt degraded and 
humiliated — ^but what could he do ? What could 
he do ? 

He had considered — not once, but several times 
— ^the matter of joining the Territorials, yet his 
common sense always revolted at the idea of 
playing at soldiers. Also they were so obviously 
inefficient. If he had done so — Oh, damn those 
' ifs ' " ! he said bitterly — he felt he would have 
made a keener man than most of them. But what 
was the use of brooding over sins of omission now ? 

Then there were certain hopes held out by 
Socialistic orators. Whilst thoroughly disapprov- 
ing the basic doctrines of Socialism he quite agreed 
with them on the folly of warfare. Like many, he 


THE WEREGELD 


277 


had rather hoped that the known continental 
strength of the brotherhood would prevent hos- 
tilities. 

More than ever he now felt convinced that war 
was a colossal mistake, yet somehow the knowledge 
failed to comfort him. Here were normally peaceful 
men intent on destroying all he held dear, in a cam- 
paign which need never have come to pass had not 
the weakness of his country's fighting force offered 
a standing temptation to those responsible. And 
then the sergeant had called him a coward. 

He felt the injustice. He was willing enough in a 
way, only — Vidiizz ! " — Gawd ! That sounded 
close ! " Oh, why hadn't some one taught him what 
to do ? 

That was what unnerved him — ^his helplessness. 

** Wish I'd thought to get the old woman out o' 
here before this," he murmured. An idea struck 
him. With a preliminary nervous glance up and 
down the deserted street he started at a brisk trot 
for the '' Red Lion." 

Sorry," said the landlord in answer to his eager 
inquiries, '' but there's not a horse or cart in the 
place. Soldiers took 'em all. You should 'a come 
sooner." 

This was a facer. Smith fumbled the useless 
coins in his pocket, loath to abandon his hope, 
yet realizing the futility of it. 

What shall I do ? " he inquired blankly. 

Go home," said the other. “ Go home and stay 
quiet. There's not much risk. They aren't shelling 
the town deliberate like — only stray shots." 

Wearily the man turned away. The firing had 
drawn closer, and the rattle and roar caused vague 


278 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


thrills to run through him. It was an outrage that 
his young wife should be placed in peril through no 
fault of his or hers. If somebody had shown him 
what to do he would teach these insolent foreigners — 
Hark ! What was that ? '' 

He had attended enough matches to know the 
sound of cheering by this time. Perhaps the home 
team had scored. 

Vain hope ! With a rattle of hoofs an orderly 
tore past, to plunge violently into the post office. 
Shambling after him in the hope of news, Smith 
found his questioning met with more rudeness. 
The message delivered over the telephone intimated, 
however, that Colesworth Rise had been carried by 
the enemy. The third division was falling back on 
the town. Did that mean scrappin' in town ? 

'' Yus,’' said the orderly ; an’ I ’ope they’ll 
well shoot you first thing ! ” 

Here was a second insult from the lips of his own 
side, and he took it in silence. Yet he had always 
considered himself a fighting man. As he retreated 
in the direction of his own home, a window sash 
slipped up and a neighbour’s head popped out. 

Find out anything ? ” 

'' Not much. There’s goin’ to be street fightin’.” 
No ? ” 

Both men looked around wonderingly. Bar the 
continuous roar to the south, everything seemed so 
peaceful. The quiet street bore the aspect of Sunday 
afternoon at the dinner hour. 

Wish I’d got the missus an’ kids out o’ here,” 
said the neighbour. ” Got a gun ? ” he added. 

Smith shook his head, and at the warning note of 
a strayed bullet the other hastily withdrew. His 


THE WEREGELD 


279 

selfish anxiety to get his own person out of danger 
vexed and displeased Smith. 

'' 'Spose I'd better be getting on 'ome meself," 
he ruminated. Plucky lot o' fools we seem to be 
in this town ; but what in 'ell can a man do ? " 

He turned wearily on his way to comfort as best 
he could the pale-faced girl awaiting him in the 
front room. As he entered, her eyes met his with 
the same wistful questioning he had read in the 
wounded dog's. Once more his value to this woman 
as a protector smote him in the face. 

** Sorry, ol' lady," he muttered vaguely. " I 
never thought it'd come to this." 

She did not reproach him. Silently they sat 
down together to await the outcome. 

It was not long delayed, though the actual time 
seemed an eternity. The din had been drawing 
closer with amazing rapidity, and now the first 
heavy impact of the modern bullet shook the jerry- 
built wall of the house. More followed, and hob- 
nailed boots grated on the pavement. There was 
a sound of men running, shots, sharp cries, and the 
smashing of wooden doors. A high-pitched voice 
bade them open instantly. Before Smith could rise 
to do so the stroke of a butt -end smote the lock 
from the door, and into the room tumbled a handful 
of harassed-looking men. The subaltern in com- 
mand ad/ised Mrs. Smith to clear out — finding time 
even then to throw a note of kindness into his voice 
— but whether she was too dazed to understand, or 
whether iier instincts would not permit her to 
abandon her home, she would not follow his advice. 
Without farther parley he turned to his men, who 
had already opened fire through the windows over- 


28 o 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


looking the common. The house rang with the 
clangour of the explosions, and stank with the 
fumes of cordite. 

Presently, in a dark mist. Smith seemed to see 
the anguished face of the sergeant — the sergeant 
who had been rude to him. 

'Ere ! " he said, thrusting a hot rifle into the 
nerveless hands. 

Hurried inquiry as to the manipulation of the 
arm, however, was only met by a fallen jaw and a 
peaceful, unseeing gaze. The sergeant had fought 
for Smith in war, and worked for his advantage in 
peace for many years. It was unseemly that his 
last moments should be disturbed with the weari- 
some task of instructing another recruit. Seeing 
the dark stain spread on the dirty tunic. Smith 
understood what had happened and turned away to 
the ofiicer. 

'Ow " he began ; then noticed that the 

boy was sitting on a chair and looking deadly pale. 

'' Christ/' said the subaltern, sliding gently to 
the floor. 

A man was crouching in the window, firing with 
a persistent and careful regularity which sav^oured 
of good craftsmanship. He was what he himself 
described as a fus' clars shot," and knew within 
himself that only the chicanery of jealous superiors 
had denied him his marksman's badge. His own 
work was performed with the little majinerisms 
and the perfervid zeal of the artist, but from Smith's 
point of view he was small help. All he could 
vouchsafe was some abstruse remark about the 
" barleycorn." The bolt action was not hard to 
grasp, however, so, snatching a handful o| ammuni- 


THE WEREGELD 


281 


tion from the dead, Smith went to work as best he 
could, firing mechanically at the flashes from the 
hedgerow, and the palings which surrounded the 
football ground. Had he not contrived to get his 
sights set at fifteen yards he might have done quite 
a lot of execution. 

The whole house front was dim with the dust and 
the chips of brickwork kicked skyward by the 
bullets. Smith did not care. At the eleventh hour 
he was helping to defend his own, and all his heart 
was in the task. He was aroused by a hand on his 
shoulder. The expert on barleycorns '' was speak- 
ing to him. 

“ Let's get," he whispered. " Orficer's dead, an' 
you an' me's the only ones left. It ain't our fault. 
If they'd been less than six to one it'd been different." 

It sounded like sound advice, and Smith's wild 
eye sought his mate. He could not see her at first, 
although a bundle in the corner roused vague appre- 
hension. He stumbled towards it ; but before his 
numbed brain could understand the meaning of the 
crimson stain on the carpet a merciful bullet chipped 
the jamb of the window and, snarling across the 
room, flicked body and soul apart. 

As he fell, hoarse, alien voices came roaring down 
the street. The " fus' clars shot " looked pensively 
on the dead, and changed his plan of campaign. 

“ After all, it's me job," he said. 

Running to the door he met the first rush at the 
point of his solitary bayonet. Shouting, he died 
on the threshold which Smith himself had been 
unable to guard. 









A MORAL VICTORY 




A MORAL VICTORY 

(WRITTEN IN 1917) 

T he company sergeant-major had under- 
taken the tour of duty from midnight to 
3 a.m., so I was due to be awakened by 
him at the latter hour. Such being the case I should 
have been surprised, though I was not, when he 
came into my dug-out and announced that it was 
stand-to. Stand-to should have been at six, the 
end of my shift. 

Not only this, but the dug-out had become a 
tent, what should have been the bed of Mr. White- 
cliffe. Temp. 2nd Lieut., was occupied by a stranger, 
a very bright lamp was on the table, and a man 
in what appeared to be white underclothing was 
standing in the entry. 

I had a feeling that I must have skipped some- 
thing, that the German 5*9 batteries must have 
scored a direct hit in the night, and that thence- 
forward I must have lain dead for several thousand 
years. Now, however, I was awake, and the man 
in white, who was obviously the new company 
sergeant-major — the old one I had left in my dead 
past should have called me at three o'clock — was 
waking the usurper of Whitecliff’s place, in a new 
language which I understood as well as EngUsh. I 
have forgotten it again now, but I am positive that 
the two tongues — both the Blue and the White — 
285 


286 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


were completely foreign. It did not seem strange, 
however, that I should understand them any more 
than that I should know the man on the bed, with- 
out an introduction, as the commander of the 
company. 

Both the sergeant-major and the commander 
were tall men, and their eyes were most noticeable. 
They were clean-shaven, and their faces were worn 
and strangely wistful. When the commander 
stood up and put on his helmet and strapped on 
his sword, I noticed with some surprise that they 
were in no wise differentiated. Both wore the same 
close-fitting silk clothing which bore no badge of 
rank and the swords and copper helmets were 
identical. 

Then where do I come in ? I said. 

I had turned in as a highly respectable platoon 
commander, but times seemed to have changed. 

The S.M. smiled at me. 

“You are an Illusion of the Past,” he said. 

It seemed natural enough and I liked the sound 
of his voice. He was a kind man, although very 
weary — not with bodily fatigue, the other kind. 
But he seemed everlastingly patient. So did the 
commander. 

Now neither of these men had spoken to me yet — 
saving for the few words that had revealed my 
present position to me. It was thus rather astonish- 
ing, I reflected, that I should already know so much 
about them. 

“ The enemy are quiet,” said the sergeant-major, 
“ and it looks like fine weather. Please God the 
attack will go forward without a hitch. They 
broke back at three o'clock before our patrol, and 


A MORAL VICTORY 287 

there was some shouting in their line when they 
reached it” 

The commander seemed pleased at this in a grave 
way. We left the tent now and I found that the 
trenches I had known so well had vanished ; in 
their place there was only a line of small tents, and 
the men were sitting out in open order on the grass 
in front of them. 

It was not light enough to see the enemy's lines, 
so presumably these strange people were still 
standing to arms, but they appeared to have started 
breakfast notwithstanding. A man with a kettle 
was even serving out hot drinks in the gloom, yet 
the commander made no comment. The German 
front line had been about a hundred yards away 
hereabouts. Supposing — suddenly I remembered 
a certain old Karl and his matutinal machine-gun 
and regretted the disappearance of the trench. At 
the same moment I became aware that the com- 
mander was speaking. 

'' Your name is Illusion," he said, " and that is 
but another name for what you dread. You were 
thinking " 

" Of a certain German — a machine-gun expert," 
I told him. " I hope," I added nervously, " that 
he is an illusion too." 

" A gun ! " exclaimed the commander. "You 
imply that the Germans might begin to kill us ? 
Ah, then I should consider myself in luck. What 
do you think, sergeant-major ? Our friend from 
long ago is hopeful " — this was hardly a correct 
interpretation of my attitude of mind — that they 
will open fire." 

"Well, they are weakening, sir," said the sergeant- 


288 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


major, brightening. You can feel it clear. I 
doubt, however, if our luck will hold to that extent. 
But rU bet you this, sir,” he added, I'm open to 
bet they fire before the day is over.” 

”If they do they're done,” said the other. ”No, 
sir,” he added, turning to me, ” you have left guns 
as anything but a last resort, as a weapon of any 
practical value, in the world of long ago from which 
you come. If you are to march with us to-day 
you must fight with your brains. I doubt if you 
understand me ? ” 

” I understand that you have just said the 
same thing I have been accustomed to hear,” I 
said. ” We did try always to fight with our 
brains.” 

” Yes,” he agreed after a pause. ” But I expect 
nevertheless that we are at cross purposes so far. 
It is necessary for me to tell you that your weapons 
and the continual improvement of those weapons 
all the time prevented you from doing that very 
thing — that is in the sense in which I meant it. 
Men can't go on the wrong track for ever though. 
After a time they found out and began to simplify 
the one thing and to work up the other. Personally 
I am in favour of complete disarmament, but then 
that's only my idea, and I am only the commander 
of this company. We will have breakfast now if 
you feel like it and I will try and bring your ideas 
up to date. We have to attack in about an hour's 
time and I want to go over and inform the enemy 
first.” 

fe It seemed to be futile to be surprised any further 
by a warrior who advocated disarmament and 
contemplated desertion aloud in the presence of 


A MORAL VICTORY 289 

his men, so I followed him back to the tent in 
silence. 

Your trouble is this,'' he went on presently — 
he seemed to have a rather disconcerting knack of 
reading my thoughts — “ that you have jumped 
direct from an age that still believed in the fear of 
death as the deciding weapon, as the supreme 
decisive force. You were convinced that you wore 
away the enemy's moral by keeping that fear upper- 
most in his mind. I want you now to grasp the 
idea that men no longer fear death — if they ever 
did, which I doubt. I believe that no man ever 
died without a feeling of relief at the last anyway. 
What really scared them was having to continue 
to live in the state of affairs you produced for their 
benefit. After a man, for instance, had lain a certain 
time in a dirty ditch with his nerves exposed to the 
wear and tear of a most damnable noise and vibra- 
tion, and that suggestion of painful wounds made 
by the sight of other men painfully wounded, then 
it was that he became afraid, useless as a soldier, 
and probably ran for it. Moreover," he continued, 
as I was still silent, men have now for long realized 
that the use of material weapons is a sign of weak- 
ness." 

" I don't quite follow you," I said. 

" Let me explain," he replied. Supposing you 
were attacked by a lion, would you shoot ? " 

" Most certainly," I replied. 

He laughed. 

" You would not shoot at a mouse though, if 
that went for you," he said. " If you consider, 
you will understand that to show a wish to destroy 
is to confess fear." 


u 


290 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


'' I see,” I said slowly. 

“ Then you see, too, do you not, that if fear be 
the one thing the enemy wants to conceal he will 
not use his guns if he can help it ? 

This seemed a topsy-turvy kind of argument to 
me, but I forbore comment and turned my attention 
to my breakfast. As we finished the meal, he spoke 
again of his strange intention of going over to the 
enemy. 

I can go over any time I choose,'* he said in 
answer to my inquiries, '' at least it has been 
my habit for some time. Stay there ? Oh 
no " 

I felt profoundly ignorant, but he was as patient 
as ever. 

We only walk up to their line and look them 
over. The S.M. usually comes with me." 

I felt a little dizzy. The sergeant-major usually 
accompanied him in a morning inspection of the 
enemy's sentries. 

I suggested that it might not be a bad idea to 
take the company too, seeing that this enemy of 
his was so complaisant. 

* Well, as a matter of fact, I am going to," he 
admitted, " if they will follow. But that comes 
later. I am going alone in the first place." 

' Why ? " 

* To tell them we are about to attack." 

‘ To tell them " 

'' That we are about to attack." 

He frowned and looked thoughtfully at the floor, 
and with such a strange confidence had this man 
inspired me that I accepted his idea as sane and 
sound. 


A MORAL VICTORY 


291 

“ But, if they tolerate visitors, why do you not 
send your message by an orderly ? *’ I said. 

He laughed quite cheerily. 

A soldier identical as to dress and equipment with 
his commander — ^but I believe he was a private — 
had come in with another dish. This man,'' said 
the commander, ‘‘ who is an Illusion of the Past, 
has suggested that I should send you to the enemy 
with a message. Will you go ? 

The orderly smiled sourly. 

** I will go with the company,'' he said. He spoke 
in the same measured way as the commander. 

But to go alone is a physical impossibility for me, 
sir. He should know that." 

Tell him why," said the commander. " He 
wishes to know what it is that would prevent 


" Just that," said the orderly with a trifle of 
roughness in his tone, and for the first time I became 
aware of the difference between these two men. 
'' Illusion — Fear." 

“ But what are you afraid for ? " I persisted. 

The man made no answer. 

I turned helplessly to the commander. 

''You are hiding something from me," I said. 
" I know by your face and the faces of your men 
that there is danger in this place. But you appear 
to defy it successfully. What is it ? " 

" There is no danger." 

" You " I stopped suddenly, and a wave of 

dismay seemed to sweep over me. Were they mad ? 

The commander was eyeing me unseeingly. 

" As yet," he remarked presently, " you are an 
encumbrance to us. You are unaware of what we 


292 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


are facing, and that means that my men are support- 
ing you. You are not bearing your part.'' 

'' But I wish to," I said. 

" Then you shall," he returned. '' I will let you 
wear the helmet of a casualty " — so they had 
casualties, after all — '' and you shall go forward with 
us. But you may not carry a sword." 

*',What do I fight with, then ? " 

" You are not to fight," he said. You are to 
stay with me as long as you can — but I do not wish 
you to fight. I will tell you briefly," he added, 
" what you are to face and how. You are to face 
an Illusion that is worse than death, and for the 
present you in particular are to face it by fixing 
your mind on me and following where I lead. That 
is your duty." 

" What is this Illusion, then ? " 

" The thing that wins battles " 

'' The destruction ot the enemy's forces," I quoted. 
'' Is that everything ? " he said. '' I know of 
your war — ^which you won — and yet you did not 
destroy one in six of your enemy. What was it 
you destroyed ? What is Everything in an army ? " 
I think he prompted me by means I did not then 
understand, because the answer came in a flash. 
It was just one sentence heard first at some for- 
gotten lecture. 

Moral is eveything," I said. It was a general 
that told me that." 

" Did you ask him what he meant by moral ? " 

" I did, but he could not say. He only said again 
that it was Everything and that I would find it so. 
I did. But I am no wiser than that general to this 
day. I can’t describe it." 


A MORAL VICTORY 


293 

Neither can I, but I can speak simply about — 
about Telepathy. You understand that ? '' 

'' I am not interested in Spiritualism/' I said. 

If he had called me a fool it would have been less 
than justice. But he was patient still. 

I know nothing of that either," he said. " I 
am only a soldier, and those things of the spirit 
are above me. War is very material. We only 
deal in material things like Telepathy. 

** I do not know," he went on as I sat abashed, 
what was known of this in your world. Stop me 
if I speak of what you do not understand. 

You understand the electric current that the 
primitive peoples of Central Africa employ ? You 
do. Then the sending of messages by electric dis- 
turbances without conveyance — wireless is the 
word. The wireless is the first thing we used, and 
the second — you understand brain-work ? " 

" In a way — yes." 

** Then this is enough. When your brain is at 
work it undergoes chemical changes. Every 
chemical change means structural change and dis- 
turbance. The thoughts and emotions of your 
mind, most particularly those which cannot be 
expressed in words — for they are the strongest by 
far as you must know — are causing waves, and the 
waves are striking on the cells of the brains of other 
men, and similar actions are set up and the same 
thoughts and the same emotions are there as well. 
Now I have answered for your general. You say 
you recognized ' moral ' when you met it. How 
did you — what shall I say ? — make it ? " 

" It isn't a thing you make," I said. " You can 
only raise or lower it." 


294 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


How did you raise then the moral of your 
men ? '' 

Any way. A word or a joke perhaps. A joke 
especially goes a long way.'' 

Always ? " 

Yes — ^no. Now that has struck me," I cried. 

I remember in the height of a bombardment — 
when I was new to the work — ^how a sergeant made 
some joke and then laughed, obviously to cheer us 
up, and it had just the opposite effect. I had been 
all right until then. Yet he was only doing what he 
had been told to do, and he meant well." 

“ He meant well," agreed the commander, ** and 
the mistake was made by the man that instructed 
him. The mistake was a common one, it has been 
described by a wiser man than me as confounding the 
symptom with the thing. When men are so — as you 
were — in bombardment, falsehood is inevitably re- 
vealed. One must then be honest and God shows 
the way. There is no rule, then, that the wisest 
man can lay down, so it is better to lay down none 
at all." 

You are wise," I said, half awed by this 
man. 

I am nothing," he replied, “ but the commander 
of this company. The thing you speak of as moral” 
he continued, is cumulative and is a state of being 
which is passed from man to man. Your ser- 
geant's joke had really next to nothing to do with 
it, though it may have acted in a primitive way " 
— he tapped a copper head-piece which the orderly 
had laid on the table — in drawing attention to 
your state of mind. I do not know. Did you never 
feel other men's fear ? " 


A MORAL VICTORY 295 

“ By God/' I cried, you are right. I have felt 
it behind my back." 

" Lift up that Cross and carry it," he answered, 

all you can. That is the enemy. Men do not 
fear death. It is the darkness and the solitude. It 
is the nameless evil they fear that lives in the souls 
of men themselves." 

It is in your own soul," he said, and that is the 
way in war — your own fear is your opponent and 
until that is down you must be content to strive 
with it. In a bayonet fight how would it go 
if every man disengaged in order to help his 
comrade first. That would be presumption, not 
sacrifice." 

But to come back to moral” he went on. "It 

is, as your general told you, everything. So much 
so that in time men came to see that more was 
wanted than mere statement. They studied it 
then, till they came to see that perfection of 
arms was of less than secondary importance to 

it. " 

" I cannot follow you," I said. " The highest 
moral in the world must surely be broken in time 
by — by continual artillery fire, for instance." 

" It was for a long time," he said, " and for a 
long time men saw strange experiments in which 
troops perished in seemingly mad attacks upon 
impossible positions. Then came the helmets, and 
an army walked over another army, disarmed their 
enemies and captured guns with the gunners 
standing idly by." 

" Was there no resistance ? " I asked. 

I knew the commander could not lie. 

" They did not know at the time. The vanquished 


296 WILLIAM POLLOK 

men could only say they were afraid. We know 
now though.'* 

It was an act of God/' I said. 

But the commander shook his head. 

An act of Satan," he corrected. " Surely you 
know that War is a most evil thing and the weapons 
of war are evil. It was but a new weapon, and as 
such things often are it was turned against its 
originators. It was made more effective by the very 
men who had first suffered from it. Put on your 
helmet." 

I took the copper helmet from the table and 
fitted it on to my head. It was not very heavy. 
At first I felt nothing. Then all at once I was not 
so sure. Then something was weighing upon me. 
I cannot say I was conscious of wrong-doing, but 
against me was a great disapproval. I felt lonely 
and dismayed, much as a man unjustly accused, 
against whom a clear case is being skilfully made 
out. This grew upon me and with it a lassitude of 
despair. 

My mind passed rapidly from a state of indignant 
denial to a weary acceptance of the inevitable, and 
then 

With one swift movement the commander had 
snatched the helmet from my head. He was only 
just in time, for I was on my feet, and even with 
the helmet off I knew that it was only the pressure 
of his hand on mine that held me still to that 
horrible place. A dread was upon me that no 
tongue could describe, a fear unreasoning, bestial. 
I clung to the commander as unashamed as a fright- 
ened child. 

I do not remember what he said, but it was 


A MORAL VICTORY 


297 


pitiful and forbearing. The terror died down and 
left me weak and wholly awe-stricken. I still held 
to him. 

''You are the Christ/' I said. 

" I am nothing/’ he answered, " but the com- 
mander of this company.” He bent his worn face — 
I thought I knew what made it so weary now — over 
the helmet and fumbled in its interior. 

'' You will have to put this on again,” he said, 

because you have become one of us. The enemy 
has your attraction and you will not be able to break 
away from them. So far you were unconsciously 
supporting yourself upon the courage of others and 
your own ignorance of danger. But ” — he moved a 
small plug in a chain from one hole to another — 
" you need not fear a repetition of what you have 
experienced. Just now you were facing this power 
of darkness alone. As I have set this now ” — he 
handed the helmet back to me — you are in touch 
with both enemy and friend.” I replaced the helmet 
and immediately found peace. The terror rolled 
away and I felt safe and comforted. The danger 
was there, I could still feel it, but it now appeared 
more distant. My chances seemed good, in fact. 

'' And now,” said the commander, " I must pay 
that visit.” 

It came upon me then that I did not care to cross 
that No Man’s Land, but I had undertaken to do 
it, and the commander willed it. 

The sun had risen as we started and the company 
had stood down. Only a string of sentries about 
twenty yards in advance of the tents marked the 
line. They paid no attention to us. There was an 
orchard about a couple of hundred yards from the 


298 WILLIAM POLLOK 

sentries and a cottage beyond. I do not remember 
more. 

The commander had passed through the line of 
the sentinels and was walking slowly across the 
grass field to the orchard hedge. I had followed 
him and it seemed I would continue to do so, but 
for how long — it was unspeakable, I had sooner 
have faced a firing-party. 

He never faltered. I became aware that the 
sergeant-major was with us, but the terror of that 
field overbore any recollection as to how he had 
arrived there. His face was white and grim, and I 
thought — I do not know what I thought 

A man had sprung from the ground clinging to 
the commander's knees and screaming and blasphem- 
ing. We were more than half-way now and he had 
been lying hidden in the long grass. The commander 
bent to disengage him and as he stooped six or seven 
more men arose — ^blue was their colour, not white — 
and began to retire towards the hedge. The ser- 
geant-major made a step towards the nearest one 
and he fell dead. Nothing had touched him. The 
other — ^the one we had first dislodged — ^had gone 
mad. He was sitting in the grass now with his 
helmet off screaming with laughter. I did not dare 
to look at him. 

We reached the hedge. I felt I was done for now, 
but the courage of despair kept me on my legs. 
I could see white faces in the branches staring at 
us — evil inscrutable faces, mouths slightly open as 
if in astonishment and lips drawn back. Their 
bitter eyes one felt most ; but it was all unreal. 
One could not think of them as men, only as devils 
in a nightmare staring in dead silence and abomin- 


A MORAL VICTORY 


299 

able in hatred. Then the commander spoke and 
his voice was like the crack of a whip. 

“ We are going to attack/' he said. 

Years of silence seemed to intervene, broken 
only by the screams of the maniac. 

You are going to attack," then muttered a 
voice. 

There was some confusion in my mind. 

" They speak a different language," I mumbled 
inanely. 

It seemed they did, but I understood all that was 
said, even as I had understood the commander. 

There was a fading away in front of us, and the 
next thing I knew, the faces had fallen back slowly 
until we had the hedge to ourselves. 

They only gave a few yards, I believe, and behind 
them I could see other men in blue, advancing and 
pausing as if perplexed. They all seemed to pause 
but one. 

" Back I " cried the sergeant-major at my side, 
as he saw what was to come. 

It had not occurred to me yet that amongst the 
changes brought about by this warfare would be a 
return to the older idea of individual championship. 
It did not occur to me at the time I may say. Per- 
haps it was as well. It was only later that I knew 
how we had been trapped. 

The man now approaching from the cottage 
beyond the orchard was one whose face was known 
to more than his immediate friends, and it must 
be borne in mind that retirement was next to im- 
possible. We ourselves had driven in a small 
picket with results to them which I have noted 
above. At this deadly game — call it hypnotism 


300 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


or whatever name you please — ^the least sign of 
faltering would have been fatal ; especially situated 
as we were, alone and facing an army of enemies. 
And here was this tall man in blue striding to meet 
us, and the commander awaiting him by the hedge. 

The sergeant-major had sunk on his knees and 
seemed to be praying. I think it was fear if anything 
that kept me on my feet. The man in blue had 
halted now and his followers had closed up some- 
what behind him. I think he wished us good morn- 
ing, and that he thereby made a mistake. 

We are about to attack,'' said the commander 
again. 

That is unfortunate for you," was the reply. 

'' Neither the one thing nor the other. I do not 
wish it, but I am the commander of this company 
and those are my orders." 

" And mine are that this line shall be held. I am 
leader of this army." 

Was there a hint of iron in the voice or was it 
only my imagination ? 

That of our commander had not changed. He 
spoke as he had spoken to me in the tent, neither 
austerely nor with passion. I began to feel as if a 
ray of hope yet remained in the world, albeit a 
feeble one. 

" Then," said the commander, " there is nothing 
further to say." 

I imagined there might be a chance now to dis- 
engage and return to our own lines, but he stood 
his ground. It became a question as to who should 
speak next. The silence could not last for ever. 
It was the enemy who broke it and it was a distinct 
challenge. 


A MORAL VICTORY 


301 


Sir/’ he said, and there was an ominous rustle 
behind him, “ you will return to your own men.” 

It was an order, and it must be obeyed or — I 
knew not what. I was down on my knees beside 
the sergeant-major now, and holding his hand. I 
felt that the critical moment had come and that 
the heavens were about to burst over our heads, to 
hurl us to some nameless doom. And in the centre 
of all things this Order — If only — But the com- 
mander was speaking again, very slowly. '' I will 
not,” he said. 

There was perhaps a slight emphasis on the last 
word. 

Then all at once miracles began to happen. The 
scene changed ; a roar of cheering was in my ears ; 
a sound of running feet. The Illusion had lifted. 
The self-styled leader of the enemy was but a man, 
a man consumed by mortal terror withal, and now 
in full flight, lost in a rabble of blue-clad figures. 
I was now quite unafraid, and as we crashed through 
the hedge and doubled across the orchard, I noticed 
without emotion that certain of the enemy were 
dead. Others crying pitifully for mercy were 
throwing away their swords and staggering back 
through our lines to the rear. Here and there, still 
unmoved, I encountered glimpses of faces from which 
the light of reason had departed. I was borne on 
by the rolling human wave and thinking of nothing 
but the work in hand and the man I was following. 

We halted at the top of a hill and I became aware 
that I had run miles. I was half bhnd with sweat 
and tired beyond words, but still in that curious 
detached state of mind one seems to slip into in 
battle. We had taken an immense number of 


302 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


prisoners, but across the bare fields ahead blue- 
clad figures were still legging it. 

Our halt may have been to allow our line to re- 
form, or it may have been because of a tinge of 
doubt in the air again. I seemed to see men urging 
one another behind my back and asking unspoken 
questions. Ahead of us I thought I saw helmets 
in a wood. Some of the enemy perhaps still capable 
of withstanding the Terror. 

At the sight I thought, '' Perhaps a slight retire- 
ment would be best — to the lower ground in our 
rear — where the enemy could not see us '' 

“ Stop that ! said the commander suddenly. 

He was speaking to me, and it was the first time 
he had spoken sharply. I became ashamed of my 
thought. 

Then in the most natural way in the world the 
enemy opened fire. A flash of bluish light raced 
across the wood and in a moment bullets were 
spitting and crashing around us. A shell whizzed 
and the brown earth spouted in front. It was the 
herald of a most unholy curtain fire, but our casual- 
ties were slight, for we were up and over the hill in 
an instant, and on that instant the rifle fire died 
down. The shelling continued, but mingling with 
the crash and thunder of it was the sound of hooves 
and the fields were suddenly alive with cavalry. 

I had half expected this. I knew somehow that it 
would be cavalry, not motor cyclists or aeroplanes 
or anything fantastic like that. i 

Living men on living horses were needed, and i 
Lord ! how they rode ! It was only a matter of \ 
minutes, however, before the shelling also had | 
stopped, and a great peace fell upon the land. 5 


A MORAL VICTORY 


303 


“ And now ? I asked. 

" Now/' said the commander, we may bury our 
dead. It is finished." 

And with that he burst into tears. 

Some one shook my foot and it was dark. Then 
an electric torch flashed. 

" Three o'clock," said the sergeant-major. 

Not the sergeant-major of my vision though. 

This one wore thigh boots over muddy khaki and 
had a red face and a black moustache. 

" Shall I light the candle, sir ? It's a fine star- 
light night, but a bit cold and all." 

All right, sergeant-major " — yawn — " anything 
to report ? " 

" Nothing to report, sir. It's been very quiet. 
Leastways," he added, " I've had a little trouble 
with the men on No. 6 Post. Beggin' y'r pardon, 
sir, but it's that Corporal Russell. I've took him 
off and put Leary in 'is place." 

" What's Russell been doing ? " I asked. 

The sergeant-major seemed perplexed. 

" There's no crime against 'im, sir," he said 
hesitatingly, " but — well, it's just this, sir, 'e's got 
the wind up fair, and 'e puts it up the men. It's 
not what 'e does, sir. I believe 'e tries to do 'is 
duty. It's just that, well — ^the men know it an' 
they get windy too. I just took 'im off and put 
Leary on. It'll be all right now, sir." The sergeant- 
major chuckled reminiscently. 

" What's happened, sergeant-major ? " 

" Oh, nothin' much, sir. Only just after I 
relieved Corporal Russell and Corporal Leary was 
gettin' 'is orders, two of the lads come down tellin' 


304 


WILLIAM POLLOK 


the tale about a platoon or two of Fritzes lyin' just 
outside the wire. The sentries in the post had all 
but pulled the pins of a couple of bombs before we 
got to them. Leary climbs the parapet and walks 
out to the wire. 

^ I'says 'e." 

I cannot repeat the word Corporal Leary had 
used. 


THE END 


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